


Grudge

by Bastet5



Series: The Wild Hunt [22]
Category: FBI: Most Wanted (TV 2020)
Genre: Claustrophobia, Gen, Protective Team, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Trigger Warnings, stalkers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5/pseuds/Bastet5
Summary: March 2020Life continues to go back to normal, with Kateri continuing to recover her strength after her November injury and with Jess recovering from being shot during the events of the Paul Hayden case.Then comes a new case. A cyber-stalker with his van of horrors, a case that throws a claustrophobic Kateri for a loop. Hana, too, is oddly effected, and then comes the revelation that she, too, is the ongoing victim of a cyber stalker, who then offers help with the case but at a price she might not be willing to pay.
Relationships: Clinton Skye & Original Female Character(s), Kenny Crosby & Hana Gibson & Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Wild Hunt [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678864
Comments: 19
Kudos: 8





	1. Wednesday, March 11: Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for disappearing on y'all for a week. My university, which is teaching classes partially in person, has canceled all breaks this school year except for Thanksgiving and Christmas. That means, as a graduate student and a teacher, I am crazy busy and don't have much of any chance to catch up if I fall behind, which makes me stay even busier in an attempt to stay ahead of the curve. Thus, I'm tired, and writing has had to take a backseat some days, and other days, my brain just doesn't always want to cooperate when it gets to my break time.
> 
> My brain also jumped ship this past week to different fandoms, and I've been trying to get a new story written down before the ideas disappear from my brain. Does anyone else like Patricia Briggs' urban-fantasy series, Mercy Thompson and Alpha and Omega? Or Last of the Mohicans (the 1992 movie)?

After the crunch that was the Paul Hayden case with the race to run him down before he fled to China and spilled all his secrets … _with the death toil that would come with that_ … the team was moved off of active duty rotation for two weeks to give Jess time to heal. _Which was good. Bruised ribs could just as easily turn into cracked, or worse, broken ones if something else went wrong_. Kateri knew how much rib injuries bloody hurt and was glad for Jess’ sake that he’d get a chance to heal up _before we get another hunt and go wandering all over creation while wearing Kevlar_. Even the thought of wearing body armor with injured ribs made her cringe and wish for Tylenol. _Phantom, sympathetic aches and pains_.

February ended, and March began.[1] With continued physical training and sparing practice, Kateri’s stamina returned to _pre-nearly-dying levels_ , and her tell of over-defending her left side finally faded away _with a bloody lot of practice and a whole lot of help from Kenny and Clinton_. Running was back to being a pleasure and no longer a chore to be endured. After physical therapy, Kateri had come to the realization that exercise of whatever form was a lot less monotonous and similar to drudgery when it could be performed outdoors and not cooped up inside. _Not sure if that’s my claustrophobia talking or old druthers or the job talking._

* * *

The morning of Wednesday the 11th dawned clear and cool. 45 degrees, the weather app on Kateri’s phone read, as she climbed from bed about 8am, yawning and scrubbing her hands across her face. _I stayed up entirely too later watching TV last night. You know better._ TV had a way of sucking one in, and it was a trap she had fallen prey to before. As a result, she had allowed herself an extra hour to sleep in— _and then I fell prey to the snooze button_ —but now it was time to get a move on. _You won’t feel the cold once you get moving. Up and at ‘em_.

Thirty minutes later … _I’m getting slow in my old age_ (Such a complaint in Clinton’s hearing would get a smirk and a scoff at her calling herself old.) … Kateri exited her apartment building, and her feet took her on one of several familiar paths that would crisscross Belmont and finally end up in Little Italy at her friends’ bakery. _Rule # … I’ve lost count … of undercover work and police work generally … Don’t be predictable. Don’t run the same route every day or on the same days every week. The same goes for the route you take to work and the coffee shops and restaurants you go to_. The music of Gladiator filling her ears, Kateri kept her head on an unobtrusive swivel as she ran. She was on familiar territory, but it behooved her to keep her eyes open for dangers of the work variety or the normal variety. _Doesn’t help to avoid the thug from the rival gang if you get hit by the moron running a stop-sign five seconds later_.

Little Italy did not seem to have changed that much over the last several years. Some stores came and went, but many mom-and-pop stores, owned by the same families for years, remained the same. There were familiar faces and familiar smells—coffee, sweets, and Italian cooking—and the whole area seemed like home.

Kateri’s route took her “over fen and field,” as the Lord of the Rings’ poem went, or rather over the city-fied version thereof with the exception of Bronx Park on the eastern border of her neighborhood. After an hour-and-a-quarter of crisscrossing tree-shaded paths; a handful of bridges; more streets, including Arthur Avenue with all its shops twice— _Borgatti’s Ravioli and Egg Noodles … have I stopped there before? Looks good! Maybe I’ll pick up something for dinner one of these days_ —Kateri finally wound down her run at the brick-faced shop that was Lorenzo and Ernesta’s cafe/pastry shop/bakery.[2] _Breakfast! Always smells so good here_.

The shop had only been open for about 45 minutes, but already a large crowd of people were milling around inside ordering or waiting for orders as Kateri entered, the bell above the door jangling and announcing the new arrival. She’d seen the line stretch out the door many mornings. Lorenzo and Ernesta’s shop had always been quite popular for as long as Kateri had lived in Belmont and had known the place existed. Their reliably good coffee and the changing menu of a variety of delicious pastries and baked goods, local favorites and Italian treats both ( _some favorites are always on the menu, thankfully_ ), were always a hit with the locals.

“Buongiorno, my dear,” Lorenzo, who had the face and air of someone’s favorite grandpa, called down the counter to her as Kateri threaded her way through the crowd of people, some of whose faces as fellow regulars she recognized, and took an open seat at the counter. It was almost hard to hear him over the bustle of people and the murmur of voices, but considering he always greeted her the exact same way ... _two guess and one doesn’t count what he just said_.

When the crowd around the counter lessened for a minute, he made his way down behind the long counter, which sometimes reminded her of something from an old, vintage movie ... _considering how old some of these shops are, could be_ ... to where she was sitting. “You are late for you today,” he said as a second greeting, “I wondered if you had been called out.”

_Reasonable guess._ Kateri was a faithful customer at the shop. Her absence usually meant she had been called out to work or, on rarer occasions, was sick. _Thankfully, that doesn’t happen often_. (She was blessed with a good consitution, which usually meant, however, that when she got sick, she got reallllyyyyy sick.)

“Nope,” Kateri replied, “I fell prey to the TV last night and the snooze button this morning, which is why I’m running behind.”

Lorenzo laughed, a twinkle entering his kindly eyes, “Ah, yes. Sometimes it is easier not to turn the blasted thing on at all,”— _that’s for bloody sure_ —“then to say I will only watch this much and then stop. But enough of that, do you want your usual? We have Everything Bagels today. Do you want one?”

“Yes,” Kateri exclaimed, face lighting up in delight. She loved Everything Bagels and always— _almost always_ —got one when Lorenzo and Ernesta made them ... _except on the rare occasions they have something that’s even better than Everything Bagels_.

“One Everything Bagel and fresh coffee, coming up,” Lorenzo declared entergeticaly, turning away to get them. (Someone else had taken over the register.)

A person appeared off Kateri’s shoulder a minute later while Lorenzo was still off making her order, squeezing into the somewhat crowded space between her seat and the next one at the counter. _No sense of personal space_. Politely, she scooted left slightly to give him a little more space but ignored him … or rather planned to ignore him … until he spoke to her.

“Hi,” the person greeted her, which was in itself odd. Except for the occasional lost tourists, strangers didn’t usually approach Kateri, and when they did, they weren’t always friendly.

_Wouldn’t exactly clock this guy as a threat, though_.

Kateri glanced over. The person who had squeezed in beside her was a young Caucasian male, maybe college age. He looked like he had just been running like her and was dressed in a NYU hoodie and shorts. Five o’clock shadow. Sloppily combed hair, _not the type you get from running in bad wind_. Looked like he rolled out of bed ten minutes ago. _White, and too bloody young_. _And have you no knowledge of the invention of deodorant … or combs?_

“Morning,” Kateri replied coolly, glancing away quickly back toward Lorenzo. _Please bring my order soon, because I’m not in the mood for youngsters flirting, because I’ve got a bad feeling that’s what you’re about to try doing_.

The young man did not seem to take the clue, “Anything you recommend here?”

_Yep. I was right_. The boy’s tone-of-voice wasn’t the honest question kind, especially for a question that could well be directed to the actual owners. Combined with his age and the facial expressions and the occasional glance behind him towards a group of young men … _definitely flirting_.

“Anything Lorenzo and Ernesta makes’ good,” Kateri answered, inserting a new layer of cool frost into her voice. _How loudly do I need to scream with my body-language and tone-of-voice before you get the drift_ _and leave me the h**l alone?_

“I’m Nate. You?” The young man—Nate—stuck out his hand.

“Not interested.” _Definitely not interested. VERY not interested_. If Kateri were to make a list of the features that she found LEAST attractive in potential dating partners, both aesthetically and personality wise, this guy would tick off several of the ones high on that list.

Nate’s face turned sour, “Don’t have to be like that.” He turned away muttering under his breath, “bitch.”

_Oh, you’re that type of youngster._

_Seen your type before_.

Lorenzo was just bringing back Kateri’s order as Nate turned away. Despite his somewhat advancing years, the older man’s hearing was undimmed, and he had a father’s ability to hear things youngsters didn’t meant for him to hear. In this case, he heard Nate’s last word, and Lorenzo’s face went thunderous. Kateri’s order was carefully set in front of her, and then he came around the counter, and Nate found himself refused service and shepherded outside, coolly and politely kicked to the proverbial curb.

Lorenzo returned to Kateri’s seat, shaking his head sadly, “I’m sorry about that. Youngins these days.”

Kateri made a face of agreement as she handed him the money for her bagel and coffee, “Yeaaa,” _and yet another reason I don’t date right now_ , “I’ve seen it before. Don’t worry about it.” She rose from her seat, “I’d better run. You’ve got customers, and I’ve got things to do.”

Lorenzo nodded, smiling genially, “You’ll be back tomorrow? Ernesta is thinking we might do something special.”

_Ooohhhh_.

Kateri’s eyes lit up, “If I don’t get called in, I will be.” _Special … bound to be good_.

The walk home from Little Italy took longer than it did to get there since (A) Kateri wasn’t running and (B) she didn’t want to spill her coffee or drop her bagel. Her annoyance at being hit on by the youngster faded the longer she walked to be replaced by some combination of amusement and horror.

_Getting hit on by a college kid, seriously?_

_Probably got at least ten years on him, if my age guess isn’t wrong_.

Dating was a complicated thing for a woman in her position. Kateri could count on both hands the number of men she had dated since she joined the FBI after college. A couple of years earlier she had finally stopped trying to date for the time being. _Because dating with my job is bloody complicated_. The longest relationship she had had in about a decade had lasted six months. Sooner or later something about her or her job seemed to do all her relationships in, and eventually she’d just stopped. _If I’m going to do it, it’s worth doing right, and right now it’s just not working_.

For some it was the long hours and unpredictable schedule that was the kicker, for others the nature of the job, and for one jerk in particular, sheer jealousy over her working relationship with the male members of her team. _And him I kicked to the curb as soon as those words exited his mouth the first time. Men!_ Sick of the complexities and perfectly happy with her friends, adopted family, and team-family, Kateri finally just quit dating. _If the right one comes along, I’ll probably know it, but for now the h**l with it all. I don’t need a boyfriend or a husband to be happy_.

Kateri was unlocking the door to her apartment when her phone buzzed with an incoming text. Pulling it out, she thumbed it open as she set her coffee down with her other hand. _Text from Jess. Gotta a case. Better get a move on_.

* * *

Kateri was the third of six to arrive at HQ forty-minutes later. Barnes’ car was already in the lot, and the lights were on inside the team’s muster room. Hana had just parked and was climbing from her car as Kateri pulled into the lot.

“Morning, Kat,” Hana called, having waited by her car for Kateri to catch up, “How are you?”

“Mornin’,” Kateri called back, waiting to reply to the second half until she had grabbed her dufflebag and approached close enough to the tech genius to be able to talk without shouting, “Stayed up too late last night, and fell prey to the snooze button this mornin’, but I’m alright. Had an interesting morning, though.”

_We’ve talked about boys a couple times at Insomniac Club Meetings when it’s just the two of us._ There were some things the two women just wouldn't discuss with Kenny around.

_She’ll get a kick out of this._

Hana hiked an eyebrow, “Good interesting or bad interesting?” _Always intriguing how the same words can mean entirely different things depending on inflection and intonation. Interesting vs innnntttteeeerrrrrrresssttttting._ She paused, studied Kateri’s face for a moment, “I’m guessing the latter.”

_Good guess. Am I making a face? I guess I am_.

“I got hit on while getting coffee this morning,” Kateri replied dryly.

Hana made another face, “And that’s a bad thing? I’ve found a good date or two by accident at coffee shops.”

_Then you’ve got the luck of the Irish_.

“College student, dressed and groomed like he’d crawled out of bed ten minutes before, needed to become acquainted with the wonderful invention that is deodorant, no conception of personal space, no knowledge of body language, not fond of getting shot down, and did I mention he was a college student?” Kateri listed off, tone and face somewhere between wry amusement and somewhat exaggerated horror.

_Sounds almost worse than it was listing it all out._

_Not mentioning the ‘bitch’ part_.

Hana’s mouth dropped open as Kateri grabbed the door and motioned for her to precede inside. “Oh, my. Okkkaayyyyy,” she finally said, adding in a few more colorful phrases for good measure.

Barnes appeared from the ladies’ room, one eyebrow raised. “Problem?” She questioned.

_Not really. Just sharing stories._

“Kateri got hit on while getting coffee this morning,” Hana answered, setting her bag down and heading straight for her desk.

“Didn’t go well?” Barnes asked Kateri.

_Nope._ Kateri restated the list she had just rattled off to Hana, which got a grimace from Barnes and an added muttered comment from Hana’s direction about “boys.” _Definitely wasn’t a complement whatever she said_.

“Younger men aren’t your type, then?” Hana asked a second later as she started booting up her computer.

_Define younger men …._

“Depends on what you mean by younger men,” Kateri replied, making a bee-line for her locker, “My father,” _God rest his soul_ , “was one year? Two years? I can’t remember. Younger than my mother,” _God rest her soul_ , “There’s that kind of age difference, and then there’s ending up with somebody young and stupid or, worse, young and stupid and immature.”

_Those I can’t stand_.

“Welllll,” Hana drawled, “Can’t disagree with you on that.”

“But no, Hana,” Kateri finished, circling back to the original question, “they generally aren’t.”

The conversation soon shifted from boys to work as the three women started prepping for the briefing and for leaving and started gathering their stuff.

Soon Jess and Clinton arrived with Kenny scurrying in a few minutes later, complaining about traffic. _A fact of life in New York! Though city traffic’s not the worst ever. I’ve heard Philly and Boston have it worse. Thankfully not something I’ve ever experienced myself though._ Kateri made a sympathetic face, as she finished pulling out an extra box of hollow-point ammo from her locker and tucked it into her bag. Then, propping up each boot in succession on the bench, she quickly doublechecked the first-aid stuff she kept in her pants pockets. After the last mission, it paid to be careful. (Hearing the crack of the gun and watching Jess fall was an image that would remain in her memory for a long time to come.)

“Morning, kid.”

Kateri glanced up and over, greeting her almost-father and partner with a quick smile … _and once the paperwork finds its way through the courts, actual father_ , “Morning.” She dropped her pitch and switched to Mohawk, shooting a glance at Jess’ back, “How’s Jess? Ribs better.”

_Only been little over two weeks since that humdinger of a case_.

_Rib injuries … they hurt like a bitch for a while_.

Clinton nodded, “He says he no longer looks like a rainbow.” _Sounds familiar_. He switched back into English, “And you?”

“I’m fine. I was running behind until the text since I fell prey to the snooze button, but now …” Kateri shrugged and made a hand-gesture, encompassing the whole room. “I’m no longer late. You?”

“Just fine, kid.”

Before more could be said, Hana threw up the posters and other info, and it was time for the briefing to start. Any last-minute work could be done while everyone talked. Most everyone gathered around the table. _What low life did what this time?_

“CID’s thrown us a real curveball,” Hana declared, tablet in hand, as she turned from her desk.

The reasons for her statement was immediately obvious as soon as Kateri got one look at the Most Wanted Poster. Where there was usually a photo of the fugitive, there was one of those grey-human-outline thingies like what you’d see if you just made an online account and hadn’t added a profile pic yet. Where there was usually a name, there was only John Doe. Where there were usually physical characteristics, only unknown after unknown after unknown.

_Bloody h**l, and what the h**l?_

“What the h**l?” Asked Kenny in surprise from the direction of the fridge, gesturing up at the screen.

Kateri, who had sat down on the bench by the lockers to retie the laces on one of her boots, was wondering the same thing. _If this were April 1, I’d almost be wondering if this were a prank_.

“We’re operating under a John Doe fugitive warrant,”— _bloody h**l, we don’t get one of those very often at all. Bloody hate them_ —“the unknown assailant is wanted for double homicide,” Hana replied, approaching the conference table, “and attempted kidnapping last night in Brooklyn.”

_Bloody h**l!_

On the other screen, not the one with the _bloody unhelpful wanted poster_ , Hana started playing security footage of the incident. There was no sound, only actions that silently played out. The footage was of a broad street, where exactly Kateri didn’t know, not having seen or checked the address yet. Store fronts were visible at one extreme of the camera’s point-of-view. Two sedans were parked along the curb, and there was a large, dark van, pulled diagonally blocking the street that ran in front of whatever store or business the camera covered. There was a gaggle of people on the street, who fell shot or ran for cover, as a man emerged from the van and started shooting.

_Bloody h**l._

“Anybody get the plates from the van?” Clinton asked.

“No,” Hana replied, “The intended kidnap victim is Chris Thompson.” At that point, a picture of a smiling young man in a fancy suit was overlaid over the security camera footage. “A marketing guy in the tech field.”

_Tech field … lots of reason you could go after someone involved with that._

_Though marketing … probably less impetus than for a guy in R and D. **[3]**_

Finishing stuffing a couple final things into her duffle, Kateri set it aside out of the footpath and approached the conference table, stopping next to her partner. Now that she was closer, she could read the labels on the open tabs. _Footage is from a club, interesting_.

“For the past four months,” Hana continued, bringing up a new document on the screen, “Thompson has been the target of a cyber-stalker, who goes by the name of Hunting Chris,”— _well, that’s definitely creepy and not at all subtle_ —“Two hours before the assault, Thompson received this text.”

“’You won’t be so lucky next time,’” the boss read off the message from the screen, “When did this threat originate?”

“Unknown, but across state lines, which makes it ours,” Hana responded, tapping at her tablet screen, “It came from behind a VPN[4] and through an encrypted server then bounced around four states before it landed on Thompson’s phone.”

_Yikes!_ “Overkill much?” Kateri muttered under her breath. _I hate stalker cases._ Clinton patted her shoulder and then turned away toward the gun cabinet to get his sniper rifle.

“Our stalker knows what he’s doing,” Kenny noted, tone serious. _That’s for bloody sure_.

“We have any other messages from him?” Jess asked, taking off his glasses and rising from his seat at the conference table. _Knowing stalkers, that’s probably a yes_. _Most don’t do anything by half._

“From the police file when Thompson filed a report three months ago, this is the first message,” Hana replied, projecting the relevant message up on the board.

Kateri had been moving about the room the last few minutes, trying to stay out of the way as everyone finished packing, gathering guns, and placing bags in easy to grab places for when it was time to go. Tired of having to keep moving, she took a seat at the conference table next to Hana’s chair and studied the new message.

_‘You take my time. I take yours_.’

_Not the usual first message I’d expect from a stalker …_

Jess read out the message, speaking half to himself, and then asked, “Any more?”

Hana tapped quietly at her tablet for several seconds, not verbally replying, and then a flood of new messages covered one half of the screen, coming up one after the other.

After the other.

After the other.

After the other.

After the other.

After the other

After the other.

After the other in what seemed like an unending flood.

_Bloody h**l, and God have mercy_. Kateri crossed herself instinctively. _How do you live dealing with that? Talk about the creep-factor!_

“Last night before the assault, Thompson received this,” Hana continued, _because of course, there’s more,_ “‘Moving won’t help. I can get to you anywhere. All three of you.’ Thompson’s wife’s pregnant.”

_D**n_.

“Stalker’s been smart enough not to make an actionable threat,” Barnes noted, glancing over at Jess for a moment.

_I hate smart crooks_.

“Well, anybody this obsessive is dangerous,” Hana exclaimed strongly, pushing back from the table and striding back towards her desk, “The police shouldn’t have had to have two people die to figure that out.”

_Okay, that’s a little odd._ Kateri shot a puzzled glance Kenny’s direction, who was standing over by the kitchenette, making notes in the little notebook he kept tucked into his jacket. He made a face and shrugged. _I agree, but_ … there was something about the way Hana had made those comments that was niggling at Kateri, but for the moment she hadn’t had enough coffee to start dissecting voices.

“Point taken,” Jess called in her direction. “It’s unclear,” he continued after a moment’s pause, “what kind of stalker we’re dealing with, but I think we can eliminate a couple of categories.”

_Categories and sub-categories for all types of crooks from family annihilators to stalkers._

_Everyone has their own motives, their own triggers for whatever kind of dastardly deeds they get up_.

“He doesn’t read as an intimacy seeker or an incompetent suitor, the type who imagine a loving relationship with their target. That’s leaves the rejected, the resentful, and the predatory type.”

_Reading those texts … love’s the last thing on this dude’s mind._

_Revenge seems to be topping his list. He wants to get back at Thompson for something, but what?_

_Some aspects of all those three types could seem to fit our John Doe._

_We need more intel!_

“Thompson and his wife are in a safe house,” Hana added after a long beat of silence, “Three shifts, two agents per.”

Noticing movement out of the corner of her eye, Kateri glanced away from the screens and saw Clinton returning towards the table, his gaze fixed on the security footage.

“That bar Thompson came out of,” Clinton said, and Hana quickly minimized the photos and texts to re-reveal the footage, “I know it,”— _interesting. I don’t. I’ve not done much wandering around Brooklyn, though_ —“It’s upscale. There’s limos parked outside all the time,”— _and limos have cameras!_ —“Limos have cameras in front and back.”

Jess pushed himself to his feet—Kateri was glad to see that the movement no longer made him groan with the pain of bruised ribs and that he was no longer moving like a man twice his age. “Remember as long as there’s no face on this poster,” Jess moved around the table and pointed pointedly toward the screens, “the stalker has the upper hand. The threat could come from anywhere.”

_Oh, joy_.

Bags were gathered, and then it was time to leave. Out in the parking lot Jess dispensed assignments, “Kenny, Clinton, and Kateri, get the footage from any limos in the vicinity of the club last night. Get the plates on the van if at all possible, and analyze the footage for any other clues. The rest of us will take care of the Thompsons.”

* * *

The strangely named “Bar 423,” the upscale bar outside which the shooting and Mr. Thompson’s near-kidnapping took place, was located in Brooklyn, just off of Highway 278 and only a fifteen-minute drive from HQ. Despite its upscaleness _… I think I just broke English … again?_ … its location left much to be desired in Kateri’s opinion when she got her first good look at it as the three agents pulled up in their SUV.

The dark security footage from the exterior of the bar had left much to be desired and had not given them a good sense of the area and what was around the bar … _like any other buildings that might have security cameras!_ _Hence why we’re here._ The general area to Kateri seemed quite fitting for the some of the rougher areas of the Bronx, which she tended to try to avoid unless necessary for work purposes, _and then I generally take bodyguards of a sort_. (Depending on the time and the job, that usually meant some of Billy’s goons or either Clinton or Kenny.)

There were several nearby businesses that could have cameras that might have caught something from the shooting, the best candidates being a Mexican restaurant called Horentina Restaurant, another restaurant called The Richardson, and the catty-cornered offices of Anchor Plumbing Cooperation.[5]

“Kateri, you and Kenny look for any cameras on the surrounding buildings. I’ll check on the limos,” Clinton delegated as the three climbed from the SUV. Despite it barely being past noon, there were two limos already parked on the street. _Multiple limo companies in this neck of the words. Which one or ones were here last night?_ Clinton would need to figure that out so the team could start tracking down the right limos to get the footage they needed.

“Sounds good,” Kateri and Kenny both echoed.

Once Clinton had headed off into the bar, Kateri turned to Kenny, “Want to start with the restaurants or the plumbers, or do you want to split up?”

Kenny scowled, his eyes fixed on something behind Kateri. “Let’s not,” he drawled.

_Whatever it is, not a threat_.

Kateri turned part way to see what he was looking at. What had drawn Kenny’s attention was two dark, rust-colored stains on the pavement, the only signs that still marked the locations where Mr. Thompson’s friend and driver had both perished the previous night. ERT and the police had already been through the scene, and there were no chalk marks or police tape to mark the scene. Already life was moving on.

Only the blood remained.

Kateri crossed herself quickly. _May God have mercy on their souls._

“Fine by me,” Kateri replied after a second. After the events of the past six months, she was not keen either at the idea of splitting up. As the boss had said not that long before, the threat could come from anywhere. The team were flying blind until they got a photo for the mysterious stalker. _Hard to do threat assessments for a location or watch our backs when we don’t know who were supposed to be guarding against_. “Shall we start clockwise or counter-clockwise?”

“Counter.”

Their first stop then was Horentina Restaurant. The lunch rush had not fully hit yet, but the small mom-and-pop-looking restaurant was half-full-ish as Kenny and Kateri entered. The seating area was warm and smelled of good things cooking in the back. Kenny muttered that it was making him hungry, and even Kateri, who wasn’t usually a fan of Mexican, had to agree that it smelled good. Unfortunately, the young man at the counter spoke only the most basic English, enough to take orders but not much more, and Kenny spoke no Spanish, and Kateri only basic pleasantries, learned from Billy and some of his compatriots. Thus, it took over twenty minutes … with the assistance of a translator from HQ … _once we got him on the line_ … just to determine that yes, the restaurant had a camera outside … _which is where exactly, since I certainly didn’t see one?_ … but no, it did not work and had not been working for quite some time. _Bloody h**l_.

The next stop then was The Richardson, a more upscaley … _I broke English again_ … looking restaurant—bar actually, Kateri saw as they got closer—probably so named for the street on which it was located. It was not due to open until 1pm, but there were workers milling about inside, prepping for another day’s work. A quick tap, tap on the door brought one over, and after flashing their badges, Kateri and Kenny were quickly let inside. The manager was present and, having heard about the events of the previous night, was more than happy to give a copy of the outside security feeds from that time.

_I like it when everyone cooperates and makes our job easier._

_Dragging it out and stonewalling us just makes everyone’s day worse_.

In an effort to keep Clinton from waiting on them, Kateri went ahead across the street to the plumbing cooperation’s office, leaving Kenny to follow as soon as he’d gotten copies of The Richardson’s tapes. Despite not wanting to cause a delay, Kateri prompted started to regret her decision within a minute of getting inside.

That regret began with a very unpleasant secretary with a temper problem, escalated with an aid who looked at her like a piece of meat lacking clothes … _almost feel like I want to shower. Just because I’m a woman does NOT mean you get to ogle me_ … and culminated with a suit who immediately started in on the run around as soon as Kateri explained why she had come. Kateri was more than capable of dealing with stonewalling suits and other shenanigans by herself, but sometimes it was still simpler to have one of the others around. The delight some seemed to take in giving her the run around … _whether it’s because I’m a woman, a woman of color, or something other entirely_ … usually vanished as soon as Clinton or Kenny or even Jess appeared. _Them being men aside, they’re big, and if one of ‘em growled at me, I’d certainly be inclined to stop being a pain in the a**_.

Finally, the suit’s flow of word stopped, and Kateri took a deep breath and slowly counted to ten in French before she replied, “If I have to, I can get a warrant and come back, but neither of us want that to happen. If you don’t know what happened last night, two people were gunned down, and the FBI is trying to find the man who murdered them before more people die. The security footage from your building could be crucial to discovering the murderer’s identity. If more people were to die because of the delay, that would be a lot of bad press, and you might be sued. You might also find yourself arrested.”

_Same argument basically worked on ICE couple years back._

_Let’s see if it works here_.

_Wrongful death suit. Obstruction of justice. Impeding a federal investigation. Need I continue?_

Sputtering promptly followed, and the suit’s face went several interesting colors, but he quickly dispatched a lackey to get the footage, and after the already-long delay within another ten minutes Kateri was back outside in the fresh air, a flash-drive with the footage in one hand. Kenny was waiting by the SUV with Clinton, who was talking quietly on his cellphone.

“Get anything?” Kenny asked quietly.

Kateri nodded, “Not without the requisite stonewalling from the suits, though.”

* * *

Kenny, Kateri, and Clinton left Brooklyn and returned to headquarters. Clinton had managed to get access to footage from several limos at the bar the previous night, and between that footage and the footage Kenny and Kateri had gotten from the two nearby shops, everyone was hopeful that at least on one piece of footage they would catch a license plate and hopefully some other helpful details.

“So, we have footage from three limos and the two things Kenny and I got, so how do we divide this up?” Kateri asked, draping her jacket across the back of her usual chair at the conference table and settling into it with a general, all-purpose sigh.

_That’ll teach me to stay up that late watching TV again …_

Clinton thought for a moment, sinking into a seat beside her, “Kenny and I can start on the limo footage. You take the other bar and the plumbing company. Whoever gets through first can help the others.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kenny declared, and all three turned to their work.

The three were still working through the footage— _can’t just fast-forward to the correct time-stamp. People often case a place before they do something. Gotta watch for the clues before a thing goes down_ —when the boss, Barnes, and Hana, bearing lunch, joined them, returning from interviewing Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.

Mr. Thompson had no idea what he did to spur HuntingChris— _whoever he actually is_ —into hunting him and his wife. For months since the stalking had begun, he said, he had been wracking his brains to come up with any clues and still didn’t have a clue. He noted that he even had apologized to the stalker for whatever offense the stalker thought had been committed against him and had even offered to meet him in person to talk things out. _If that doesn’t sound like a recipe for disaster, I don’t know what does!_ Mr. Thompson had put in for a transfer to his company’s office in San Francisco to try to escape HuntingChris, but now that his friend was dead, he was wondering why he wasn’t dead, too.

_Just killing him’s not the goal?_

Hana took up the recapping at that point, sheer disgust coating every word, “He sent thousands of emails to the Thompsons, their friends, their families, even their coworkers. He even sent workmen to their apartment at all hours of the day and night, and the police said they couldn’t do anything at all … because they couldn’t trace him.”

_Seriously? We can’t trace him right now either. That’s not stopping us._

_I can think of a decent list of charges off the top of my head._

“Problems tracking him aren’t stopping us,” Kateri muttered, shaking her head before she somewhat more vigorously than necessary chomped a bite out of her hamburger.

Hana snorted in agreement and disgust both it sounded like, muttering something about the police under her breath. She seemed to be taking their … _incompetence? Lackadaisical approach to this case?_ … personally. Kateri shot a puzzled, concerned look at her back and noted that Kenny was doing the same. Their eyes met, and they both shrugged. It was clearing something related to the case was bothering Hana, but what exactly or why wasn’t totally clear.

_If she wants to talk, she knows we’ll be happy to listen._

“Trackers are being put on the Thompson’s devices. The techs were arriving to do that as we left,” Barnes added, “We should be able to see incoming messages and trace them in real time.” _If we trace old messages, we’re left trying to play catch up_.

Everyone turned back to their work at that point, and it was not that much longer before Clinton hit the jackpot. The footage from one of the limo cameras had captured a perfect image of the van’s rear license plate—BNQ 19125—and it did not take long to discover the name and address of the man who owned the van: a Mr. Fred Upton of Queens.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when the team hit the jackpot, but a raid on Mr. Upton’s place in Queens could not be carried out directly. It took time to gather a SWAT team and get a search warrant for Upton’s place, and the sun was starting to set by the time all the pieces were set in place. _Wheels of justice don't exactly move fast some days_.

Mr. Fred Upton, after getting one look at him, Kateri knew without a shadow of the doubt could not be HuntingChris. After watching the footage from the bar Thompson had been at over and over and over, the physical characteristics between the two and the behavioral differences were too striking. The fugitive in the footage was tall—his head, she had seen in some of the footage, almost reached the top of driver’s side door of the van—and lean. Mr. Upton was short and kinda pudgy and very nervous— _though having an unexpected encounter with an entire SWAT team would make anyone nervous_ —while the fugitive had acted quickly and precisely and shot two people without an ounce of hesitation.

“Just a sedan in the garage,” Clinton updated Jess as he and Kateri entered the living room from the hallway that ran to it from the door to the garage. “No van.” The two partners had cleared the garage, while the others entered the house.

“The green van, Mr. Upton,” Jess asked, “Where is it?”

_You’re hesitating too long, Mr. Upton_.

Finally, the man himself slowly replied, “I sold it. Couple weeks ago. To some guy.”

_He’s almost screaming his unease_.

“This guy have a name?” Prompted Barnes, as Clinton stepped away to look through Mr. Upton’s desk a few feet away.

Mr. Upton shook his head vigorously, “I don’t remember it.”

_You. Don’t. Remember. It?_

_Seriously? How do you not remember the name of the person you sell your van, too?_

_Where’s the paperwork? Just get it off that_.

_Bloody h**l_.

“It’ll be on the transfer of ownership papers,” Clinton spoke, turning away from the desk back towards the group, his words echoing Kateri’s silent thoughts. _Yea, that stuff_.

“Well …. I …. Ah …”

_So much for that idea, I guess. Something’s fishy …_ Kateri shifted her weight slowly to her other foot and tried not to yawn, not out of boredom but sheer tiredness, and the tiredness was making her impatient.

Jess was brooking no creative stories or more delaying tactics, “So you don’t have the transfer paper, want to tell us another story?”

“Oooh … this is scary,” Mr. Upton huffed out a breath and pressed his fingertips to his forehead for a moment. _Come on. Get a grip, and just talk. Get this over for all of us_. “I don’t know who has the van.” _How can you NOT know? You sold it_. Kateri looked at Clinton, and Jess looked at Barnes, and those looks prompted Upton to continue, “No, really. I … I advertised it online, and … this creep got in touch with me … online.”

_Okkkaayyyyy_.

Mr. Upton gave a heavy sigh, glancing back at his computer for a moment, “He hacked into my computer’s camera and … filmed me watching … watching porn.”

_Oh, for heaven’s sake_.

“Not a crime,” the boss noted.

_Still disgusting_.

“Yea … maybe not for you,” Mr. Upton replied, “my wife would kill me if she found out.”

_Wives don’t generally tend to look with favor on cheating spouses, and porn’s close enough_.

“Anyone ever tell you to cover up the camera?” Clinton asked dryly, looking between the computer and the hapless owner. _Not doing it at all’s an even simpler_ _solution_.

“Well … I have now,” Mr. Upton declared.

_Letttttttsssss get back on topic_.

Barnes had the same idea. “The van, Mr. Upton!” There was a hint of exasperation creeping into her tone and visible in the tilt of her head.

“The creep told me where to leave it … in New Jersey … in the middle of nowhere at night, or he would send his video of me to my wife, my sister, whoever else I knew, because he had my contact list. I did what he said. I let him steal my van.” A nearby lamp threw Mr. Upton’s face half into shadow and reflected off the beads of sweat dotting his forehead.

“Did you see him or talk to him?” Jess pressed.

“No, but he was somewhere. He was watching. I walked away like he told me to, but I looked back, and he sent me a text right away, told me to keep walking to the corner and get on the 107 bus or else.”

_Interesting_.

_Very interesting_.

* * *

Mr. Upton provided the New Jersey address where the creep—otherwise known as HuntingChris—had told him to leave his van, and Jess, Barnes, Clinton, and Kateri headed out there in one SUV, leaving Hana and Kenny to return to the bus. The address led them to a rather creepy, isolated car-park with bad lighting.

_Wouldn’t want to come here alone_.

_Good place to get mugged … or murdered_.

“This makes the middle of nowhere sound exotic,” Barnes commented dryly after one look around.

“It’s a perfect drop-off place,” Clinton added, “Hidden from the street, behind businesses that are closed at night.”

_A perfect location for something awful to happen in a movie_. Kateri burrowed further into the depth of her jacket. The day had started off cool, and now that the sun had set, it had grown even colder, and she could see her breath every time she exhaled.

“Only someone who knows the neighborhood would know about it,” Jess noted. _Agreed. You don’t find a place like this without some insider know-how of some kind either from first-hand experience or learned from somebody with first-hand experience_.

Clinton jerked a thumb over one shoulder in the direction of the bus stop down the street that they had passed driving in, “Knows about the 107 bus, too.”

“Our John Doe either works or lives around her,” Barnes concluded.

Jess slowly started walking back towards the road, retracing Mr. Upton’s footsteps from several weeks before. “Upton walked back down to the road after he’d dropped the van. Our John Doe was watching him,” he mused.

“Plenty of vantage points,” Kateri tacked on, speaking for the first time in a while as she spun on one heel quickly to get a 360 view of any surrounding tall buildings. _None close by_.

“Could be watching us right now,” Clinton added.

_Well … that’s a disturbing thought_. Kateri shivered hard as much from the idea as from the cold. The idea of being watched by someone whose location or armament she didn’t even know was … creepy, freaky, disturbing, _and probably a few other adjectives, too_.

“We need to canvas the entire neighborhood. Check for the van, security cameras all the way from here to the top of the heights,” Jess ordered.

Cellphones were pulled out, and Clinton and Barnes both started making calls. Her partner stepped away, heading back toward the car, and Kateri turned to follow. Splitting up was a less than ideal idea at the moment.

_This is going to be a long night_.

* * *

[1] I am ignoring the utter existence of COVID-19 for the events of this series.

[2] Minor original characters introduced in Dopesick.

[3] Research and Development.

[4] Virtual private network. <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virtual_private_network>

[5] I am describing real businesses and restaurants, but the actions of those who worked at those places in this story have no grounding in reality. I am making these unnamed characters up for the purpose of this story. I got just … minorly … obsessed with picking out the details in the background of the opening scene and trying to place this location in New York.


	2. Thursday, March 12: Day 2

Many hours of canvasing the nearby neighborhood and scanning security footage until Kateri nearly went cross-eyed and five hours of sleep later … _as I said, a long night_ … the team found themselves back at HQ the next morning. They ate a hurried breakfast and then debriefed each other on what had been discovered during the long night’s work. _A late breakfast to go with the late wake-up call after a very late night. Story of my life somedays._ (Coffee, Kateri was quite sure, was going to be consumed in large quantities that day.) Stacks of files littered the table, interspersed with full coffee mugs and empty take-out containers from a local 24-hour diner not too far from HQ.

“The nearest working security camera was a quarter mile from that lot. No sign of the green van heading south,” Clinton quickly summarized the work he and Kateri had done the previous night. Him talking for the both of them wasn’t anything new.

 _Works very nicely out and about. Everyone looks at him, and they forget about me, and I’m free and clear to study anyone and anything while everyone’s attention’s on Clinton_.

“Or north,” Hana added, her gaze fixed away on the tablet in her hands, “He’s probably heading east up into the heights. It’s residential. No cameras.” _She seems a little less … uneasy? Bothered? Troubled? However you want to describe it … compared to yesterday_. _Wonder what was up._

“Canvas hasn’t turned up anything,” noted Barnes, looking up from her computer for a moment to glance at the boss as she massaged a kink or a cramp out of her left hand.

Kenny, who had moved from the table to the couch after finishing eating, was the last to give the update on his work, “The texts Upton got after he left the van traced to a single-use burner, so our John Doe used it only to communicate with Upton. He hasn’t used it since.”

_Not surprised. This guy’s already shown that he knows what he’s doing._

_Be more surprised if he’d made a whopper of a mistake and had used it_.

 _Worth checking just in case. Sometimes the fugitives do turn into idiots and make our jobs easier_.

“He is disciplined,” Jess agreed, coming around the table behind Clinton and Kateri.

Hana’s reply dripped with sarcastic irony, “Shopping for serial-killer van?”

“It’s not quite the stereotypical type from the movies,” Kateri mused, head propped up on one hand as she idly made a couple of notes on a pad of paper with the other, “Close enough, though.”

_Didn’t see any sliding doors which open behind the unsuspecting person about to be kidnapped and through which some creepy masked person then drags them in._

That got a snort and a wry grin from Hana, who added on to her previous question, “No windows.”

“These are the photos Upton posted on Craigslist …” Jess gestured to the printed pictures Kateri had, a few minutes before, laid down on top of the case file spread behind her and her partner.

“It’s in good shape,” Kateri noted, “Looks positively shiny.”

“That it is,” Jess agreed, “Hana, can you pull up the pictures of the van from the night of the shooting?”

Hana turned away from the conference table, pulling her phone out of her back pocket as she did so. She muttered something under her breath, stuffed her phone away … _junk/spam?_ … and then sunk into her previous seat on the couch next to Kenny.

“Problem?” Kenny asked, probably in reference to whatever Hana had muttered. _He’s closer. Probably caught whatever she said_.

“No,” Hana declared quickly. She set her laptop down between them, adding, “I’ve got the photos right here.”

“I’ll need a side by side comparison,” Jess requested, moving closer to the screens.

Once he wasn’t behind her any longer … _no running over the boss’ feet …_ Kateri scooted her chair back so that she had a better view of the screens without leaning around her partner.

“I can do that,” Hana responded.

A few seconds later, the requested photos appeared on the left screen, a comparison between the zoomed-in photos of the doors on the left-side of the van on the Craigslist photos and on the original security camera footage from the bar. The differences between the two photos quickly became apparent.

“See the dings on the panel, here and here?” Jess gestured at the screen, pointing out the marks, “They weren’t there when Upton was selling it.”

“Good catch, boss,” said Kateri. _Did not notice that. Should have_.

“Those are the kind of marks you get in a parking lot when someone next to you dings you with their door,” Clinton noted, attention fixed on the screen.

 _Yep, lost a wee bit of paint on my truck ‘cause of scrapes like that_.

Jess returned to the table, and Kateri scooted back in and over to give him space to look at the files spread between her and Clinton. “You’re right. Our John Doe’s been keeping it in a public parking lot. Now, he’s gonna try it again to kidnap Thompson. He’ll need a van.”

 _If he’s as smart as he seems, he’ll know we’ll be looking for the green van, and he’ll get something different_.

“He has to figure we made the plates,” Barnes said, echoing Kateri’s thoughts, “The van’s hot. He probably ditched it and got a new one.”

“Yeaaa,” Kenny drawled, “but he went to a lot of trouble to get that one. It’d be easier to just switch the plates.”

_Not hard to get fake ones. I know several people in the Bronx who could provide one._

“And even give it a new coat of paint if he’s feelin’ really cautious,” Kateri added, reaching out to grab her coffee mug.

Jess leaned one arm on the table, “And park it somewhere where it won’t draw attention.”

“Or get towed,” Clinton chimed in.

“Or get tickets,” added Barnes.

_Long-term airport parking lot would probably work, but I don’t think there’s any close._

“Hana,” Jess straightened up, shooting a glance over at the couch, “take us down Tunnley Avenue."

“Fasten your seatbelts,” Hana called back.

A Google Maps overview of the area appeared on the left screen and started moving quickly southward down the street. _Ugh!_ The movement of the screen was fast enough that it quickly made Kateri’s head feel funny, and she looked away before she got full on dizzy.

After a few seconds, Barnes commented, “It’s all private lots. There’s nowhere to hide.”

“Keep going,” requested the boss. A few more seconds passed. “Stop! What is that? Right there.”

 _Okay. Safe to look back now_.

Kateri looked back at the screen. A simply massive parking lot filled most of the open window. It was maybe a third to a half-ish full. One more car would simply blend into the crowd.

“Newark Airport long-term parking,” Hana replied.

_Bloody h**l! I was right!_

_Didn’t realize there was any nearby_.

_My New Jersey geography needs some work._

_That and I need more sleep_.

“Alright! Let’s go.”

* * *

Because of heavy traffic getting across from Manhattan into New Jersey and the time necessary to alert other requisite parties, it was almost noon by the time the team reached the flagged parking lot that was a h**l of a lot closer to the airport than Kateri had realized.

_How the h**l did I miss that last night?_

_Not enough sleep’s probably a good place to start_.

She knew where the Newark Airport was, had flown into and out of before, _so how the h**l did I get that turned around?_

 _Should’ve at least heard the planes_.

 _Bloody h**l, I need more sleep, and maybe a geography lesson_.

The parking lot was more crowded than it had been in the outdated satellite footage from Google Maps, and to Kateri, who was not extremely vertically challenged but not exactly tall either, it looked like an unbroken sea of cars with a few taller vehicles sticking up like waves on the ocean. New Jersey state troopers, who had arrived on the scene first, had already located the van, so it was just up to the team to move in and clear the scene.

The van was an unassuming thing, painted a nice shade of dark hunter green. It didn’t exactly scream serial-killer, Hana and Kateri’s joke aside, or “my owner has already blackmailed one person, murdered two others ruthlessly in cold blood, and wants to kidnap a fourth.” What the team would find in it, however, they didn’t know.

Clinton and Kateri ended up in the lead as the team approached the van. They went left toward the driver’s side door, while Kenny circled along the right side, leaving Hana, Jess, and the boss covering the rear doors. The passenger compartment in front was quickly cleared, and the three returned to the back.

 _Let’s see what creepy things are in back._ Whether it was a body in the trunk or otherwise, the back of a car always ended up more interesting than the front.

_Murphy’s Law_

_I hate Murphy’s Law._

Kenny and Clinton formed up on either side of the back doors. Kateri stood just off of her partner’s shoulder, leaving enough room for him to move and enough room that she was not in anyone’s line-of-fire. Kenny grabbed the handle and pulled one side open, and Clinton pulled the other side open. Guns snapped up, and within a second, the back was cleared.

 _Bloody, bloody h**l_.

_God have mercy!_

When it came to horror-factor, the inside of the van probably took the cake even compared to the other horrifying scenes Kateri had seen in her career. There was no blood coating the walls or floor; no mangled body, limbs askew, mouth open in one, last silent screem, and eyes wide in death; no body parts. Kateri almost would have preferred that to this. The interior of the van was a horrific mixture of a sex dungeon on wheels and a sadist’s/serial killer’s play room. _Restraints, tools for torture, a bondage mask, chemicals, a blow torch_. It was not the gore that was no horrifying but the promise of cold-blooded torture inherent in the van’s contents.

“Bloody h**l,” Kateri muttered, swallowing hard to keep her stomach in its rightful place. She could feel her heartrate skyrocket. A lump settled in her throat, and she broke out into a sweat.

 _Bloody, bloody h**l._ She crossed herself quickly. _God have mercy._

“Oh, my God,” Barnes echoed a second later.

“Restraints for stress positions, bone-breaking tools …” Jess rattled off aloud what Kateri had already mentally catalogued in horror.

 _Bloody, bloody, bloody h**l_. Her thoughts were almost stuck in a loop as she starred at the house of horrors, a torture chamber crammed into an horrifically small space. _My hands are shaking_. Whatever her partner said next seemed distant, far-off, as Kateri holstered her gun. _Could that have been me if … if … they hadn’t gotten May before he got back to me …?_

“It hurts just looking at it,” Kenny commented with a grimace of horror.

 _Uh, yeaaa … Ugh_. Kateri’s stomach lurched again. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket to keep them still … _stiller_. “Uh, boss …” _I need to get out of here before I have a panic attack … or puke_.

Kateri’s tone was a lot shakier than she’d intended, and it got her sharp looks, worried looks from … everyone, especially her fath… from Clinton.

“Go back to the cars, Kat.”

Jess’ order was one Kateri was more than happy to comply with, and she quickly turned away and crossed the twenty feet back to the team’s cars. She leaned her weight on the hood of one of them, not even paying attention to which, leaned her hands on her knees, and just breathed, her attention fixed on the fine details of the worn and uneven asphalt.

 _You know the drill. In and out slowly_. _In and out. In and out. In and out._

_That was years in the past. You’re safe. Everyone’s safe. No one can hurt you here._

_Just memories. Just memories. Breathe. You know the drill_.

A couple minutes passed, the soft murmur of voices drifting over from the direction of the van, and then footsteps approached. Kateri looked up and forced herself to straighten, blanking her face, but then she saw that was it was only Clinton, only her fa … _partner when we’re on duty. You know that_.

Clinton leaned on the hood beside her and wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders, “You going to be alright, kid?” There was no point in asking if she was okay, because clearly the answer was ‘no, not really.’

Kateri huffed out a breath, leaning a little harder into his embrace and the safety it represented, but nodded, “Yea, I’ll be alright. That’s just … It was just too much … Too small, and made me think about before …”

“Dungeon on wheels,” Clinton noted and agreed, “Not a pretty sight, especially knowing what was planned for Thompson.” If Kateri titled her head up slightly, she could see just the slightest hint of puzzlement. He didn’t seem to be following exactly what she was insinuating/referencing, but _he’s got the basic idea. Thing shook everyone from the faces, I think_.

“I’m no stranger to violence,” Kateri whispered, “I’ve seen some things with Organized Crime that I can never unsee, but torture … as awful as it is, there’s usually a point to it, getting intel or … something. This …” her voice shook for a moment, “this is just for kicks, just because Mr. Thompson did something to our John Doe and now he wants revenge. This’s just a new level of … messed-up.”

 _Billy can be cruel to his enemies, but this … even he’d be horrified_ … _I think … I hope_.

“Yea, it is,” Clinton agreed, rubbing his hand up and down her arm, “Van’s going to be towed back to headquarters. We can look over it there once ERT’s done their thing.”

“Okay,” Kateri could feel her heartrate continue to slow back down. _When I can feel my heart pounding without ever putting my fingers to my neck, that’s a problem_. “I’ll let you all deal with that unless Jess thinks that’s a problem. It’s doesn’t matter what I tell myself or if I try to psych myself up: that thing’s just going to freak me out again.”

_And a panic attack wouldn’t not help me get anything done today._

The arm around her shoulders went a little tighter for a second, “That won’t be a problem, kid. Jess knows the drill by now. They’ll be other work you can do, I’m sure, while we go over the van.”

The tow truck arrived, and the others trickled back over towards the cars. Hana seemed to be the most shaken by the sight of the van … _except for me and my reaction_ … and Kenny was giving her the side-eye from time to time but changed course to come check on Kateri. He leaned on the car beside her, taking up the place Clinton had vacated a minute before when he left to speak with Jess.

“You okay, Kat?” Kenny asked, “Green’s not a fetching color on you.”

_Haha_

“Very funny,” Kateri forced a half-smile, her voice dry, “I’m alright now. That’s just … uh, something else.” How to put the sheer horror of that van into words, she didn’t know.

Kenny snorted, “Makes me hurt just looking at it. John Doe’s one sick bastard.”

“That he is,” Kateri agreed softly, “That he is.”

 _And that makes him very, very dangerous_.

* * *

The team returned to headquarters, and John Doe’s house of horrors—van of horrors, rather—was towed back to headquarters, also, and deposited in the evidence garage for ERT to go over with a fine-tooth comb. That process took several hours and gave the team time to eat lunch and do other work before the call came in that ERT was almost done, _which means they can go down without getting in the bloody way of all the techs scurrying hither and thither_. Kateri stayed in the muster room, as already agreed, since _me having an actual panic attack over that thing isn’t going to make this day any more productive or our work go any faster._ For Kateri, the interior of that horrific van was as much a claustrophobic’s nightmare just for the sheer lack of size as a nightmare for its … contents and the … _torture it promises. Just locking me in there would be torture enough. Wouldn’t even have to start in with anything else_.

Within an hour, Clinton, Jess, and Barnes returned, but Kenny and Hana were noticeably absent. Jess and Barnes stepped outside into the garage to do something or have some private confab, while Clinton retook his seat next to his partner to give her an update.

“Hana and Kenny are heading to the safe house to give the Thompsons an update on the case and what we found in the van.”

 _A house of horrors … yea, the news catches wind … that’d make some sensational stories or get so twisted fact-wise you wouldn’t know what end’s up_.

“Better to hear it from us than the grape vine of whatever variety,” Kateri agreed, making a face.

As to the van, Clinton related, the restraints were situated in a way that would keep Thompson spread-eagle face-up on the floor so that he could see John Doe and see him taking the torture tools off the rack. Anticipation, in a situation like this, was almost as much torture as the actual torture. With those kinds of chains and metal restraints, struggling was more than useless. Ropes you might be able to escape from, _if you’re lucky_. Metal restraints, all struggling would probably do is injure you faster.

_All you can do is lie there and wait._

_John Doe’d know not to park somewhere the screaming would alert people and get ‘em to call the cops_.

_Not exactly much soundproofing in a van like that._

“It was a good thing you stayed here,” Clinton related quietly with a glance toward the doors, “Jess wanted one of us to try it on.”

_God have mercy!_

Kateri’s eyes went wide in mingled horror and disgust at the very thought, “Bloody h**l. Who drew the short straw?” Even the thought of wearing that mask sent shivers of fear running up and down her spine and made her stomach lurch. _Bloody h**l_.

“Jess ended up it. Similar head size.” _Take one for the team_.

“Bloody h**l,” Kateri murmured again. _I would have freaked_.

“What we did discover,” Clinton continued, “was that while all the tools are off the shelf, the head-cage is custom-fit and hand-made by a professional,”— _Ahh, I see where this is going_ —“Probably a craftsman who caters to the bondage crowd,”— _Ugh_ —“We need to find him.”

* * *

Not long afterwards, the four agents headed out to the bus. As the case progressed and its scope widened, its more central location became better for liaisoning … _Did I break English again?_ … with other units in the Bureau and the cops … _and any other groups that get dragged into this mess of a case_. Everyone settled into their particular tasks, and Clinton and Kateri started work on tracking down the craftsman of the head-cage. _I feel like I want to take a shower after seeing some of this stuff._

About dinner time, the bus door reopened, and Kenny returned and, without a word of greeting for the others or an update, made straight for the desk where Jess was sitting. Kateri looked up automatically, her head coming around at the noise of the door, and she was just quick enough to catch the barest glimpse of Kenny’s face with the tight set of his jaw and a troubled look in his eyes before his back was towards her.

_What’s that about?_

_What happened now?_

“Has Hana done a stalker case before?” Kenny asked Jess without explanation or preamble, “Maybe one that went south.” _Okay … what happened to bring that on? Something connected to … earlier_. The craziness of the case hadn’t made Kateri forget yet that Hana had been acting … oddly … since the case began, seeming to be taking the stalker and the whole bloody mess of a case rather personally. _Yeaaa, I guess something like that could fit. Maybe?_

“Why do you ask?” Jess responded, setting the papers in his hand down. It was a deflective, almost blow-off, answer if Kateri had ever heard one out of him.

Whatever response Kenny made was non-verbal and hard for Kateri to judge … _since his back is to me, and ow, my neck for craning that long_. _Don’t do that, moron_. She turned back to her laptop and reached up one hand to massage the cramp out of her neck. _Just turn your chair, moron. It swivels_.

“Where is she?” Jess asked.

“Out by the car.”

Jess disappeared out into the parking lot to talk to Hana. _Guessing he knows something we don’t_. Kateri pushed herself to her feet— _I need a break from this bondage crowd stuff anyway. Ewww_ —and approached Kenny who was still standing by Jess’ desk.

“What’s going on?” Kateri dropped her voice to an undertone, wishing the two could converse in some other language besides English for more privacy. _Kenny doesn’t now French or Mohawk, and I don’t know Chinese so much for that wish_.

Kenny shrugged, “Something to do with these texts Hana’s been getting. You’ve noticed she’s been acting weird last two days, too. It’s ‘specially after those texts.”

Kateri’s brow furrowed, and she ran through her interactions with Hana since the case began, focusing on the moments when Hana had seemed especially troubled. _What texts?_ “I don’t remember any texts.”

“I don’t know what’s in them, Kat,” Kenny said, his hands flexing as if he wanted to hit something, _whomever or whatever is freaking Hana out, probably,_ “But …”

“She’ll be alright, Kenny,” Kateri touched his arm for a moment, “We look out for each other. We can talk to her when we’ve got a chance.”

Kenny nodded slowly, “Yea, I know. Didn’t want to talk when I asked out in the car.” He shook his head, growled something under his breath, and then made for the kitchenette counter and started rummaging through one of the cabinets.

Brow furrowed with concern, Kateri returned to her seat and her work. Between the two partners, Kateri and Clinton were making good progress tracking down whoever had made the creepy, freaky head cage for John Doe’s dungeon slash torture chamber on wheels, and Clinton had found a new lead since Kateri had stepped away for a moment, and the two turned diligently to their work until Jess with Hana a step behind him returned a little while later.

Hana announced that she had something that she needed to tell them all, but she seemed uncharacteristically nervous and uneasy, and it took her a minute before she could seem to figure out how to begin.

_What the h**l is going on?_

But finally, she did.

And it was a doozy.

“Several years ago, before I knew all of you, there was a guy, Jack Wellman.” Hana moved restlessly as she spoke, shifting from foot to foot, twisting her hands together, and occasionally glancing over at Jess, all uncharacteristic behaviors that set Kateri’s teeth on edge.

 _I’ve got a bad feeling about this_.

 _A very bad feeling_.

“A hacker, an FBI contractor. We went on a date, by which I mean one,”— _make that a very, very bed feeling about this_ —“The chemistry wasn’t right for me. Well, that wasn’t good enough for Mr. Wellman.”

 _Oh, bloody, bloody h**l_. Kateri swore colorfully in the silence of her own mind. W _e’re supposed to be the good guys, but even the good guys can fall of the rails._ There were several ways that Hana’s story would likely go from there, and none of them were good. Kateri leaned back in her chair, stuffing her hands into her pockets to keep herself from fidgeting or fiddling with her hands, glancing over for a moment at her partner, sitting next to her. Clinton had leaned forward, elbows on his knee, but his face was dark, his jaw set.

“He started stalking me. Emails, texts, turning up at my apartment all hours of the day and night, sending me flowers and gifts,” Hana continued.

 _Bloody, bloody h**l_.

The situation Hana had faced … _is facing?_ … wasn’t as bad as it could have been, _considering some stalkers_ , but it was still bad, very bad, given how Hana was acting, how shaken she visibly was. Stalking was always bad, but … considering some cases Kateri had heard about through the grapevine, some stalkers … rejection could lead to much more … severe, horrific, and traumatizing consequences … _worse than making you look over your shoulder every hour of every day_. This case with the Thompson’s and the promise of that van was case in point.

“Hana,” Barnes began, a depth of feeling clear in her voice.

 _No wonder this case has been troubling her. Like déjà vu all over again_.

_Bad déjà vu all over again._

_Like some past cases for me. Like than van for me._

Kateri glanced over at Kenny, checking on him. Threats to her or Hana especially always put him on edge, _but he seems to be keeping it together for now_. Kenny looked angry, but it was controlled anger, not the I’m-five-seconds-from-flying-off-the-handle kind.

“He didn’t break the law,” Hana continued quickly, “but I reported him, and he was fired from the bureau.” _Good riddance to bad rubbish. There are some other people IA could use to send out with the trash in my opinion, but that’s another story_.

“Is he still harassing you?” Kenny asked, voice tight but level.

“He lets me know he’s around,”— _bloody h**l. How do you live like that?_ —“He makes me feel weak and vulnerable,”— _feeling vulnerable, I bloody get, but if you’ve kept at it, kept on living, kept on working even with this for years, no way in all the bloody blue blazes are you weak_ —“And I don’t like it.”

Barnes got to her feet and approached Hana, who continued undaunted with her story. _There’s more? Always more with people like this_. “I hadn’t heard from him for about six months, but he’s resurfaced … offering help,”— _Seriously?_ —“He says he knows something about our guy.”

 _Okkkkkkaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyy_.

“He could be full of crap,” Hana concluded, “but he’s a great hacker. Better than our John Doe.” _And if you say he’s great, that’s something coming from you_.

 _Maybe, but an offer like that … there’s always a catch_.

Barnes seemed to be thinking along the same lines, “What does he want in return?”

“To meet,” Hana replied, pausing for a second before adding, “me. Just the two of us.”

_Oh, bloody h**l, no!_

_That’s a terrible idea_.

Kenny stiffened and shifted uneasily at the same moment. The idea of Hana walking into a bad situation without backup to meet with a nutso who had been stalking her for years … sounded like a recipe for disaster. _Years of this … how’s someone not arrested him for harassment yet?_

“It’s out of the question,” Jess stated.

“Wait, hold on,” Barnes countered, taking a step forward, “That’s up to Hana, isn’t it?”

A hand tapped her shoulder, and Kateri turned away from the group and the ongoing conversation back towards the computers and back towards her partner. It only took a second to recognize what had drawn her partner’s attention and what he wanted her to see. _Bloody h**l, the name we’ve been waiting for. Finally._ After hours of work, including through some sites that made Kateri want to wash her eyes and her brain with bleach as well as take a shower, they had the name of the person who had made the head cage.

Tommy Royce.

“It is up to me,” Hana replied as Kateri was studying the new information that had just come in, “And I’m not sure.”

_Your decision, but watch your back if you do._

_Bloody bad situation, that promises to be, I’d say_.

Clinton pushed his chair away from the table so that he could see around Kateri. “This just came in,” he announced, gesturing toward his computer, “We got a hit on the welder that made the head cage.


	3. Friday, March 13: Day 3

Considering how late it had gotten by the time the hit on the welder came in, tracking down the lead further and actually talking to the welder would have to wait until Friday. It was well past midnight by the time the team went to bed. Kateri had drawn the top bunk, and though she was quite tired, she lay in bed for a long while staring at the ceiling, thinking about Hana and her stalker.

_FBI’s supposed to be the good guy, but we’re human._

_Even we’re not immune to going off the rails_.

That was a situation Kateri was sadly familiar with from her time in Organized Crime, or at least she was well familiar with the risks thereof. Doing undercover work with gangs and the mob was one of the most difficult jobs within the Bureau, in Kateri’s opinion, right up there with the Crimes Against Children division.[1] _That job … not sure I could work there. Think it might give the nightmares of my nightmares actual nightmares._ Aside from the dangers of your cover getting blown while on the job and the risk of dying in umpteen very unpleasant ways and aside from the enticements of money, sex, and power that came with falling to the dark side, there was another major danger that came with working with Organized Crime.

_They’re so many ways to fall of the balance beam even when you’re trying your bloody hardest to stay on the right side._

_Being undercover … sometimes you’ve gotta do things, see things that make your skin crawl._

_Some people … I’ve seen it … they think they’ve gotta do what they’ve gotta do to solidify the cover and keep the mission going_

_One minute you're a good guy, the next you've crossed the line before you know it._

_And sometimes … when you’ve fallen off the rails … you can’t get back on._

_When you’ve seen some things, done some things … life can’t go back to the way it once was_.

With those unpleasant thoughts swirling around in her head, Kateri finally fell asleep, exhaustion pulling her under. It seemed like she had asleep for only a few minutes when the wake-up call arrived, someone rapping knuckles on the wall just outside the curtain, startling Kateri and Hana awake.

_Bloody h**l. Try calling next time._

_Or you could’ve just used an actual bloody alarm clock_.

_If you’d known when Jess wanted to get the ball rolling again._

Kateri lifted one arm and peered at her watch in the faint glow of one of the nearby lights on the ceiling. It was just past 7am in the morning, and it was time to get to work.

 _Six bloody hours asleep if I was lucky_.

Crooks waited for no man and especially not for tired federal agents.

* * *

Barnes and Jess with Kateri and Clinton left for the welder’s shop in Long Island soon after the wake-up call, coffee in hands and with breakfast to be eaten in the car. The drive was on the longer end of what went for a short drive … _considering how common are multi-hour car trips are in our line of work_. The welder’s shop was more of a warehouse or massive garage than an actual shop, full of tables and tools with stuff piled everywhere. The welder himself, a man named Tommy Royce, was big and beefy as well as a little menacing in mien, and something about him set Kateri’s teeth on edge.

Mr. Royce was also not in the mood to be helpful. _Oh, lovely_. “Who said I made it?” He asked somewhat belligerently as soon as Barnes showed him a picture of the head cage and asked him about it. _A not at all suspicious answer_.

“We do,” Barnes answered bluntly.

“And so do the people at the Marques Sex Shop who sell your good. They recognized your craftsmanship,” Clinton added dryly.

 _Oh to actually be able to wash your mind out with bleech_.

“We want to know who you made this piece for,” Barnes stated, pulling her tablet back turning the screen off.

“I make a lot of these,” Royce answered with a shrug, voice casual, “All sorts of people like a little discipline in their lives. You’d be surprised.”

Something about his tone and the casual way he talked about … that made Kateri’s stomach lurch, and she made a gagging sound for effect in the silence of her own head. She was more than happy to let the others talk and fade into the background. Royce looking at her made her skin crawl. Jess stepped away, attention drawn by something else in the workshop, and Kateri tracked his movements with her eyes.

“I wouldn’t,” Barnes shot back.

Royce got this amused smirk on his face. _Dude, you’re disgusting_. Kateri had to resist the urge to take a step backwards or behind Clinton. She was no stranger to dealing with creeps and was quite capable of standing up for herself verbally or physically, but still … _this guy’s just creeping_.

She forced her attention back to Jess. _What are you looking at … for, boss?_

“This would have been made custom fit for somebody,” Clinton spoke, “Maybe you could check your dimensions against the records.”

Jess had crouched down next to something and was studying it intently, his actions drawing the attention of Mr. Royce, who was looking a little uneasy. _More uneasy? He’s been on edge the whole time_. What Jess was looking at, Kateri couldn’t see, and since she would have needed to get past Royce to get to Jess’ side, she wasn’t inclined to go look.

“I could,” Mr. Royce replied, “if I kept records.”

_Oh, bloody h**l._

_That’s just great._

_No records_.

_Alssoooooo, not at allllllllllll suspicious._

“No records of cash transactions or checks?” Barnes asked, an annoyed look sweeping through her eyes for a moment.

Before Royce could respond, Jess added, “I don’t think money was involved here.” _Come again? What the h**l did you find?_ “Isn’t that right, Mr. Royce?”

Royce got a troubled on his face and crossed his big, beefy arms across his quite expansive chest— _he’d be a problem if this came to a fight—_ but did not respond.

“The man we’re after has a preferred of method of getting what he wants,”— _threats and blackmail_ —“blackmail,” Jess continued.

Clinton approached where Jess was crouched, something small in his hand, and Kateri followed her fat … _partner_ over, using his movement as cover to get past Royce. She was curious to see what Jess had founded and had no intention of being left alone near Royce.

_What did you find?_

“Let’s say he hacked into a camera security system,” Jess rose to his feet and gestured toward one wall where a small security camera was mounted, “and caught someone doing something dicey like … illegal safecracking.”

 _How the h**l did you get to that conclusion?_ Kateri was momentarily dumbstruck by Jess’ Holmesian leap in logic, but then Clinton handed her a small piece of metal that Jess had handed him, the thing the boss had spotted and been looking at it, and then she understood.

 _Bloody h**l, boss, you’re amazing_.

It was a metal safe label in her hand.

A safe label that one would usually expect to find _ON_ a safe, not on a shop floor.

Royce made a face but still didn’t speak.

“Acme Strong,” Clinton noted dryly starring at Royce unblinkingly as he took back the metal label of a safe from Kateri and handed it across to Jess, “They make good safes.”

 _That they do_. The safe hidden in Kateri’s closet in her apartment was from that company.

“Nothing a talented welder couldn’t open,” Jess responded, studying the metal label further, “And now you’re going to tell us that you crack safes for legal owners who forget their combinations.”

 _And this is why you keep backups for important things like that_.

“That sounds about right,” Royce replied.

_Yeaaa, suuurrreeee._

“I wonder if the NYPD would agree,” Jess noted, “What do you think, Barnes?”

 _Probably not_.

Barnes sauntered forward, playing off Jess’ question beautifully, “You know what, they love arresting people, ‘specially when someone else just hands them the evidence.”

 _Makes everyone’s day less complicated_.

Royce just looked at Barnes, and Barnes just starred right back. _Okay, this guy’s a tough nut to break or shake. I’m slightly impressed. That or he just knows the jig’s up, and he’s wise enough to keep his mouth shut to not incriminate himself further._

Jess moved forward slowly towards Royce, still holding the metal label off the cracked safe, “So this guy who ordered the cage, he has a tape of you cracking a safe, and he blackmailed you.”

“Yea,” Royce finally admitted. _Okay, progress_. He shifted and then added, “Okay, if you put it that way, he sent me the dimensions. He told me to leave the piece at some g*d-forsaken place out in Union City.”

_Union City, just across the Hudson into Jersey._

_And exactly where we were the other night._

_How very interesting_.

“Tonnele Avenue.” From his tone, Kateri wasn’t sure if what her partner said was a statement or a question.

“Gee, I didn’t know it was such a hot spot,” Royce’s voice was … almost snarky.

 _Yep, exact same spot_.

“Did you happen to get a look at him, maybe?” Jess asked.

Royce reached one hand back toward a pocket, making Kateri tense for a moment, as he spoke, “I doubled back and hid,” His hand reemerged with his phone, “I wanted to see the little *****. That’s him, and that’s his car.” He brandished his phone with the picture on the screen.

The picture wasn’t good, but it was better than nothing. _‘Specially with how little we have in that regard._ There was a glare on the screen, but many helpful details of both the fugitive and the car were visible. _SUV, black. Need to do some work to get make, model, and tag. Fugitive’s tall. Brown hair. Leather jacket and jeans. Can’t see his face_.

If the team had actually been lucky enough to be able to make out the fugitive’s face on Royce’s photo, _I might have actually gone out and bought a lottery ticket_. _Not often we’re quite that lucky_.

* * *

Royce, surprisingly, was willing to cough up a copy of the pictures … _without us having to get a warrant, surprise, surprise_ , and with the picture in hand, the four agents returned to the bus. The picture was given over to Hana, and over lunch, she was able to enhance it enough to get a license plate, and with the license plate, the team was able to get a name—David Fallon—and track down the address for … _not necessarily our fugitive, but whoever owns the SUV, who is hopefully our fugitive_. Kateri remembered the incident with the green van’s owner. When you were dealing with potentially stolen vehicles, the address in the system for the owner of the vehicle was not necessarily the address for the actual fugitive.

_Good thing to remember before you go in gun’s blazing._

The last thing they wanted was a SWAT raid on the wrong house with innocents in the way

_Or you might make the front pages of the Times for the wrrooonnnnnggggg reason._

By not long before 2pm, the team and SWAT were approaching the house. The inside of the house was dark, and piles of stuff were everywhere. _Looks like a dream home for a prospective hoarder_. Kateri was forced to pay more attention than usual to where her feet were going, not wanting to trip over something or fall into the piles of stuff. _Who knows what I’d land on or what’s in there?_

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

_‘Least I don’t smellll anything dead._

The team split up as they entered the house. Kenny, Jess, and Barnes went left, and Kateri followed her partner right, their flashlight beams illuminating their path forward, revealing what the dim sun filtering through the blinds did not. Clearing the house was a well-rehearsed routine, and there was no life in the house, except for what could be living in the junk piles. _No skittering feet either, thankfully_.

Kateri loathed rats.

Calls of clear resounded through the house, as the agents cleared room after room, and finally the whole house was declared clear. There was no sign of the fugitive … _except for all this stuff_.

Clinton and Kateri holstered their guns and circled back around to a small, formerly curtained-off room full of computers and computer-equipment where the others have gathered. Some odd, floaty-looking screensaver-ish thing was playing on the monitors.

“Welcome to stalking central,” Hana declared humorlessly as Kateri and Clinton appeared from a small hallway that led between the rooms, not from the main doorway.

Kenny was prowling around, studying the computer monitors in the light of his flashlight, and finally circled back towards Jess, his back to the computers. “Camera’s on,” his voice was low, a bare whisper, “He’s watching us.”

 _Oh, joy_.

 _Not at all disconcerting_.

“Let’s get the CART[2] team in here before we tear this place apart,” Jess ordered at normal volume. He drifted over to Kenny’s side and added in an undertone, “Can you trace his location?”

Kenny gave a shallow nod. He turned his back toward the camera again and touched his comm, “Coffee shop on Chestnut.”

_Chestnut, that’s not that far!_

* * *

With several SWAT officers for backup, Clinton, Barnes, and Kateri left Fallon’s house in a hurry and made for the coffee shop on Chestnut, but by the time they arrived, Fallon had already disappeared like smoke on a breeze. None of the other patrons of the coffee shop could give any clues about Fallon or which way he went after he left. The security camera footage was not helpful either. And so, the three returned to the house.

There was no shortage of work to be done in the house, but it was mostly computer work, so Kateri found herself at slightly loose ends. The house was small with narrow hallways—small enough to start making her skin crawl—so Kateri finally just stepped outside and leaned on the wall next to the open front door. Everyone else was inside, and she was alone with her thoughts and the cool breeze blowing on her face.

Snatches of voice drifted outside as time passed.

“… look at this,” came Jess’ voice. He had been standing just inside the open doorway within arm’s length of Kateri’s spot until a few seconds before.

“… alley entrance … cut in line … coffee,” Hana seemed to be reading something, _probably whatever the boss found among Fallon’s piles of stuff and was looking at_.

“… ever offended him,” Jess’ voice was faint, and there was a noise of something shifting or being shifted. _As long as there aren’t any crashes of stuff collapsing, I won’t be worried_.

Hana’s voice and the annoyance that coated every word were clear, “Thin-skinned little bastard.” _Must feel pretty personal dealing with a case like this. What drives a person to do this?_ _Just don’t get it._

A minute later, footsteps made themselves known—the house was old and creaky—and then Kenny’s deeper voice drifted out, “Fallon started remotely deleting the hard drives as soon as we entered the house. Not sure how much we saved.” _Bloody h**l_.

The time outside for the last twenty minutes or so had lessened the skin-crawling effects of her claustrophobia, and Kateri stepped back inside to better hear what was being said but stuck close to the door. Her partner appeared at the far end of the hallway—Clinton had been off doing something somewhere—as Kateri reentered the house. He shot her a “you okay” look that Kateri was able to read even in the low light inside. She nodded, making a gesture with both hands that encompassed the hallway the two were in and then squnched both hands together into a small ball and then gave a dramatic shiver accompanied by a so-so hand gesture. “My claustrophobia a little bit,” the silent gesture said. (The two were good at talking non-verbally. _Maybe I should try charades.)_ He nodded, shot her a look that was half-commiserating and half-encouraging, and then went back to whatever he was doing.

Kateri took up a position in the doorway outside the computer room and leaned against the door frame. _Holding up the wall_.

Jess finished up … reading something, “11:06pm, light’s out. He’s watching someone.”

“1993, Fallon must have been 8 or 9,” Hana responded, puzzlement clear in her tone-of-voice. _Now that sounds creepy. Got a bad feeling about what they’re reading_.

“Stalker even then,” added Kenny. _Must have been one messed-up kid_. Hana made a comment about the photos she was looking at. _Explains the rustling paper_. “How much do you have to p**s off an eight-year old to make him stalk you?” Kenny asked then, voice half-way between sheer astonishment and confusion.

 _Uh, good question. A lot, I’m guessing_.

_Never would have occurred to me when I was that age … even during foster-care._

_And goodness knows there was some people I … hated_.

Barnes appeared from the other side of the house, and Kateri sidestepped out of the doorway to let her though. She was carrying a book in her hands. _Something else creepy?_

“I found Fallon’s client list,” she announced, “All the places where he installed security systems.” _Like welcoming the fox into the hen-house without a second thought_. “And check this out!”

Barnes turned the book to show the others what she had found. The angle was too bad, the distance too far, and the lights too low for Kateri to read what she had found and wanted the others to see, but Jess solved that problem by reading it off, “11th Street Obstetrics.”

“Carly Thompson’s clinic, the one they visited right before Fallon started stalking them.”

 _Oh, bloody h**l_.

* * *

Hana, Barnes, and Jess left for the safe house to speak with the Thompsons about Fallon, while the others went back to the bus to go over what they’d found so far, leaving ERT to go over the rest with a fine-tooth comb. The three returned within an hour with an update. Mrs. Thompson did not recognize Fallon, but her husband did. During the emergency appointment at the clinic, Fallon had been talking to Mrs. Thompson’s obstetrician, Doctor Gupta, as the two arrived. _Why was Fallon there? Security systems? Wouldn’t he be talking with IT people, not a doc?_ The doctor had broken off her conversation with Fallon and hurried the Thompsons into an exam room. Fallon, Mr. Thompson, said did not seem to react to the interruption, and there was no physical contact. _Yet the stalking … a minor incident and over-blown response_.

These minor insults with Fallon and all those recorded in detail in the materials recovered from Fallon’s house were triggering to the man, reminding him of some traumatic experience from his past. _Okkaaaayyyy. That I don’t get, but I don’t have to in order to catch ‘em._

“Where he’s been is where he’ll be,” Jess concluded at the end of the impromptu briefing, “To help find him, we need to find his first victim from ’93.”

The afternoon was spent studying the Polaroids discovered among Fallon’s stacks, and many of the photos centered around one particular house across the street from the Fallon place, a house belonging to a man named Tom Wright. Hana, Barnes, and Jess left early evening to go speak with the Wrights, leaving the others again at the bus to work.

They returned with dinner and yet more news. Mr. Wright was a crotchety, temperamental old man who had a long-standing reputation in Fallon’s old neighborhood as a bully. His daughter Jill revealed that her father did not pick on kids but that Fallon’s father had been fair game for abuse. _Bloody h**l_. Once, Fallon’s father had gotten a broken tail light when he and Mr. Wright accidently backed into each other. _Explains the broken tail light we found at the house. Why’d he keep it though?_ Mr. Wright had jumped from his car, screaming about the damage and had even slapped Fallon’s father, who was of a meek and shy temperament. David Fallon had seen the whole thing. _Yea, that’d scar a kid … and make you angry_. He and his mother moved away a year later after his father’s death.

The pieces were slowing coming together, and the day had brought a lot of progress.

 _Still a lot more to do_.

* * *

[1] https://www.fbi.gov/investigate/violent-crime/cac

[2] Computer Analysis Response Team. <https://www.fbi.gov/news/stories/piecing-together-digital-evidence>


	4. Saturday, March 14: Day 4

Saturday morning dawned clear and cool and much too early. David Fallon was still in the wind and still a major threat to the Thompsons, and the sooner the team could catch him and stop him the better. Breakfast was a quiet affair at the bus, and once food and the first cup of coffee were consumed in short order, it was time to get back to work.

“Found the autopsy report on Fallon’s father,” Hana announced around 9:30am, “Not a heart attack. Death by suicide. He swallowed a pesticide cocktail. His wife found him in the basement.”

 _Pesticide cocktail?_ Kateri grimaced. _Bloody h**l! That’s a bad way to go, and to have find him afterward … bloody h**l_. Kateri pushed her chair away from her desk and swiveled toward the others. _My work can wait a minute_.

“She lied to the neighbors and slipped out of town with their son,” added Barnes from her desk across the aisle from Hana.

Jess was slowly pacing the length of the aisle in-between the desks. Sometimes the walking seemed to help him think. “I’m sure the young Fallon drew a straight line between the humiliation and his father’s death.”

 _A reasonable conclusion … ‘specially for someone of his father’s temperament_.

“That’s a heavy weight for a kid to carry,” Clinton concluded.

Kateri gave a wry snort and shook her head sadly, pushing herself to her feet and coming over to join the others, “That’s for bloody sure. I can understand how Fallon drew the line from A to B. Let’s those feelings fester, and off the rails, he goes. Like with the school-shooting survivor two years ago … what’s his name …” She scowled and snapped her fingers as if trying to dislodge the name from her head. _Oh, come onnnnnn!_

“Timmons, Doug Timmons,” Clinton nodded, filling in the name his partner forgot, and then added, “No wonder he gets triggered anytime someone disrespects him.”

“He’s not a child anymore. He’s an adult,” Hana almost snapped back, “A grievance collector.”

 _Yes, but not quite the point_.

“Yes,” Kateri agreed with a shrug and a commiserating look but corrected gently, “but for a scarred, messed-up kid, that he gets from point A to point B is understandable and not that surprising. Is it the right response? Bloody h**l, no, but that’s a different point. Gotta profile the subject as he is, as he sees the world.”

_Harder to see that if you get too close to the subject._

_Personal experience can give you a leg up in some cases or just be a hindrance_.

Kenny snorted and nodded agreement with what Kateri was saying but added onto Hana’s own point, saying with accompanying gestures to the journal itself, “A grievance collector and a coward. Some of the people in his journal,”— _talk about messed up reading, bloody h**l_ —“he slashed their tires, canceled their credit cards, and he poisoned a dog. Escalating but never confronting them face to face.”

_Why go after the dog?_

_Not like it did anything to you as you thought the others did._

Hana’s phone buzzed as Kenny finished speaking, and the tech genius reached out to grab it. Considering it was a text buzz, not a call buzz, Kateri had a good hunch who had just texted her when Hana’s face went dark and then blank within seconds. _You-know-who again, I’m guessing_.

_A pox on him._

“It could be learned behavior from his father,” Jess noted, going back to pacing, “People with depression like to avoid confrontation,”— _and some people without depression_ —“Ultimately that could be who he’s angry with.” _Possibly_.

Hana broke in at that point, gaze still fixed on her phone, “Speaking of cowards, I just got another text message from Jack Wellman.”

 _Figured_.

A muscle in Kenny’s jaw spasmed. It was clear from everything he had said and not said since Hana’s revelation that he had … opinions … about the esteemed Jack Wellman and what he’d like to do to Wellman for all he’d put Hana through.

_Not that I could say I’d much differently._

“‘Hi-fives for IDing Fallon, but I could have spared you the trouble,’” Hana continued, reading off the text message. _Seriously. Then why didn’t you? And how’d you know we were involved with this case in the first place? You’re seriously creepy._ “Look at this,” she tilted her phone so Kenny could see the screen and then turned it so everyone could see.

There were three text messages and a photo visible on the screen. The first text message was older. The second was the one that Hana had just read out. Then came a photo of David Fallon from a very creepy angle that made a shiver race up Kateri’s spine. Then came a third text message that definitely made Kateri uneasy.

_Let’s meet, he says._

_Just the two of us, he says._

_A recipe for possible disaster, that is, I say!_

“He hacked Fallon’s phone?” Kenny’s voice was a mixture of surprise and grudging respect.

“Told you he was good,” Hana replied dryly, “‘I have more good stuff for you. Let’s meet, just you and me,’”— _let’s not!_ —“He’s offering intel on Fallon.”

Jess’ face was … somewhere between grim and torn, and he gave Hana an assessing look.

“It can’t hurt to hear what he’s got,” Hana responded.

“Could hurt you,” Kateri countered, _considering how this case has shook you up already and all Wellman’s been doing is texting you. You really think seeing him can’t hurt anything?_

Hana’s gaze flicked from Kateri to Jess and around to the others, “To get a killer off the streets, I’m willing to take a chance.” _And you said he makes you feel weak! This is the opposite of weakness, what you’re doing right now. Putting your own feelings aside to help others!_

Barnes turned her head to look at Jess, and a silent conversation passed between them. Finally, he gave a half-shrug and nodded.

Kenny straightened in his chair. “I’ll go with you.” _A statement, not a request_. There was no way in creation, Kateri knew, that Kenny was going to let Hana go off to meet with Wellman without some sort of backup. _You go, Kenny!_ It would be just as likely as Clinton letting Kateri herself go marching off to a meeting with her old unit without backup.

“If it makes you feel better,” Hana agreed, “Just don’t bite him.”

The two gathered their coats and quickly departed.

Kateri watched them leave and then starred at the closed doorway for a minute lost in thought, shaking her head, and then returned to her seat beside her partner.

“You know,” Kateri said, switching into Mohawk as she sprawled into her seat and stretched out her legs in front of her, “Kenny biting Wellman wouldn’t be an outcome that concerns me. Slugging him, yes.”

Clinton gave a wry snort and nodded. “I can’t say I’d blame him.”

_That’s for bloody sure._

_Hopefully this doesn’t turn into a complete and utter disaster_.

* * *

Within an hour, a slightly shaken but still composed Hana and a visibly furious but still controlled Kenny returned. _What the h**l happened?_ The trip to the coffee shop to meet with Wellman had been a bust. Whether the former FBI contractor actually had further intel on Fallon was not clear. He said he did but also said it wasn’t for free and tried to leverage the intel he said he had for another date with Hana. _Little weasel_.

“Wellman’s a dark-haired little weasel with an earring,” Kenny growled as he and Kateri stood outside getting some fresh air not long after the two’s return, “All he wanted to do was talk about their ‘relationship.’ Hana had to keep steering him back toward the case.”

Kateri made an answering hmm— _he wants to rant, and I’m willing to listen … not like I can blame him for being bothered. Wellman sounds like a piece of work_ —and Kenny soldiered right on in his aggrieved rant, “Even had the nerve to say that it was Hana’s fault that we didn’t get that photo sooner and then we could have been ahead of the ‘game.’”

“Seriously?!” Kateri looked at him askance. _Bloody h**l_. “Blaming anyone but himself, typical behavior for that ilk.”

Kenny growled under his breath and nodded, “Even said he wasn’t stalking her. Disgusting little bastard. He almost tried to follow us. I wanted to break both his legs.”

_Bloody h**l. What a creep!_

“Welllllll,” Kateri drawled, “I can’t say I blame you, though I can’t think it would help much in the long run. I was guessing you slugging him was a more likely outcome than you biting him, though.”

That drew a laugh, somewhat strained, from Kenny, and finally, slowly he relaxed. “I hate this,” he grumbled, “Wellman’s a piece of work, and he freaks Hana out, and I hate it.”

 _Yeaaa, I get that_.

“Just be there for Hana like you’ve been there for me. She’ll get through this.”

* * *

Not long after Hana and Kenny returned from the useless meeting with Wellman, some sort of message came in from the agents guarding Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, and soon thereafter Jess and Barnes left to speak with the two and give them an update. The two had been gone about an hour when Kateri’s phone buzzed as the conversation about lunch was being breached.

Kateri glanced away from her computer and over to her work phone, which was sitting next to her laptop, on the charger. The caller ID said it was Jess. _Interesting. What’s this about?_ Kateri unplugged her phone quickly— _cord’s not long enough to get my phone to my ear still plugged in_ —hit call accept and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Yea, boss?”

Jess’ voice was slightly distant, and there was some background noise. _Probably on speaker phone._ “Mr. Thompson is sending his wife to San Francisco this afternoon from JFK. He’s staying here until Fallon is caught.”

 _Bloody h**l_. _Not sure if that’s a good idea or a terrible idea._

Kateri blinked, “Okay. What do need me … us? … to do?”

“We’re on our way back to the bus now, but I need you to go ahead and,” Jess’ words were interrupted mid-steam by a honking horn and a couple of muttered swearwords, _the joys of New York traffic_ , “alert airport security in case Fallon tries to go after the wife and then call the San Francisco Field Office and get the ball rolling for security for Mrs. Thompson.”

“Understood. I’ll get right on that.”

The call was ended, and Kateri plugged her phone back into the wall. Everyone was looking at her by that point, wondering about the call. Clinton, who was sitting next to her, probably had been able to hear at least part of the other side of the conversation, Kateri knew, _since I can hear the other side of his if the volume’s up enough_.

“Mrs. Thompson’s bugging out to San Francisco,” Kateri related, “Mr. Thompson’s staying here until we catch Fallon. I’ve gotta make some calls. Can someone find me the number for the field office there?”

Kenny’s eyebrows were attempting to crawl their way all the way up his forehead to meet his hairline, such was his surprise, but his reply was immediate, “On it. Just give me a second.”

“Thanks.” _Not sure I’ve ever had to call any of the west coast offices. I’ve never even been to any of the west coast offices._

Hana and Clinton left a few minutes later to go get lunch, leaving Kenny and Kateri to their work. Dealing with airport security was, as usual, somewhat of a pain, but being a federal agent made the job somewhat easier. Once Kenny got her the number, getting security set up through the San Francisco office went quite quickly, and Kateri was just hanging up with the latter as Barnes and Jess entered with the squeak of door hinges.

“Calls are in. JFK’ll keep their eyes open and escort Mrs. Thompson to the gate, and San Fran’ll have a temp security detail set up by the time she arrives,” Kateri called down the aisle to Jess.

“Thanks, Kat.”

Clinton and Hana returned with take-out boxes full of food from a local burger joint about noon. Food was distributed to everyone, including a double-double with double everything for Kenny … _because he makes a teenager’s appetite look tiny_ and Kateri’s double with no cheese, extra tomatoes, and several extra ketchup packets … _because a hamburger can’t have enough ketchup_.

“That Wellman’s, he is a piece of work, huh?” Kenny remarked as Hana handed him his food.

 _That’s for bloody sure_.

“One of God’s little mistakes,” Hana replied.

 _Can’t agree with that theologically, but boy, do I understand the sentiment_.

Clinton hung his coat over the back of his chair next to Kateri and set their food boxes down beside their computers as Kenny announced the progress he’d made since the return from the failed meet with Wellman himself.

“I’ve recovered Fallon’s search history,”— _awesome. Wasn’t sure you’d be able to get much after what he did_ —“Before he disappeared he was cruising Airbnb looking at houses in central New Jersey.”

Kateri pushed herself to her feet, muffling a yawn behind one hand, and moved up to stand beside her partner.

“He was looking for an empty house,” said Jess. _Is that a statement or a question?_

“Did he find one?” Clinton asked, almost in sync with Kateri’s, “He get one?” They looked at each other and smiled.

 _Mind-meld does its thing again_.

Kenny gave a snort of laughter but shook his head, “I don’t know. All I have his search history, but no transactions. Let me look and see what else I can recover.”

 _That’s a good clue, even if you can’t find anything else_.

 _Those drives were all shot to h**l … metaphorically speaking_.

_Thankfully not literally._

Jess’ phone began to buzz. The boss pulled off his glasses and pressed the phone to his ear. “LaCroix.” Only his side of the conversation was audible, but whatever happened wasn’t good. “Check the security video. Don’t let Mrs. Thompson board that flight.”

Kateri’s head snapped up at those final words. _Make that very not good, judging by your face, boss. I had that all the security arranged. What the h**l went wrong now?_

Jess ended the call and sighed heavily, “Chris Thompson gave the slip to security after they dropped his wife off at the airport.”

 _Oh, bloody h**l_.

Kenny dropped his head into his hands, and Kateri gave a low groan.

_Is he just trying to (A) make our lives difficult and (B) get himself caught by Fallon all the sooner?_

_So much for the chance at a semi-quiet lunch!_

_Bloody h**l_.

 _Bloody, bloody h**l_.

_A pox on Thompson, too._

* * *

Lunch turned into a rushed affair of gobbling down food and coffee while checking over security footage while they waited for the Thompson’s security team to bring Mrs. Thompson to the bus. This new development had just made the frustrating and complicated case even more frustrating and complicated. Kateri couldn’t imagine what the Thompsons were having to deal with, living with the weight of Fallon’s stalking hanging over their heads, but _are you trying to just get yourself killed faster and in very nasty ways?_

_We’re trying to protect you._

_We can’t do that if you just go wandering off … for whatever reason!_

Interestingly enough, Mrs. Thompson, a small woman with reddish-brown hair and a very pregnant belly, had no more idea about what her husband was doing or where he might be going than the team did. “I had no idea he would do this.” _I think I actually believe you._ Her voice and the look in her eyes were sincere. “He was frustrated. We both were.” _Can’t blame you, but catching these creeps doesn’t happen overnight … ever_. “But I never would have agreed to it. Chris can’t take on this monster.”

“Does he own a gun?” Clinton asked.

The whole team had gathered at the other end of the bus around the small conference table at which Mrs. Thompson was sitting. Kateri had taken up a position leaning against the wall behind her partner’s chair.

“He borrowed one from his brother,” Mrs. Thompson replied, voice shaky, “When we started getting harassed.”

_Oh, bloody h**l._

_This just gets better and better_. The only thing possibly worse than a bad guy with a gun was a good guy with a gun who (A) was desperate or (B) didn’t know how to use it or, worse, (C) all of the above.

“How would your husband find Fallon?” Barnes questioned Mrs. Thompson, voice gentle and soothing, “Is he in contact with him?”

Mrs. Thompson’s voice firmed up slightly. “When Chris started getting emails from Fallon, he would right back, begging him to leave us alone, and sometimes we would get a reply, but that was months ago.”

_Fallon replied … interesting._

_Trying to reason with people like this … rarely does a lot of good._

_Some people just can’t be reasoned with_.

“The trackers we have on their devices don’t show any unusual activity,” put in Kenny, looking up from the tablet one big paw was wrapped around.

“Your husband wouldn’t have another phone he didn’t tell us about, would he?” Asked Jess.

_Oh, bloody h**l. Didn’t think of that!_

_Should have!_

_One of the oldest tricks in the book_.

“No,” Mrs. Thompson replied emphatically, shaking her head, as one hand fidgeted with the one of the pendants hanging around her neck, “but,”— _of course, there’s always a but_ —“yesterday morning, he went into the office. He said he had a project he absolutely had to finish. One of the agents went with him.”

_Did we know about this???_

Kenny sighed and climbed to his feet with a roll of his eyes, “His work computer!”

_Of course!_

“Check the assistant’s computer, too,” Jess ordered.

“On it.”

* * *

It did not take that much work to discover the answer to how Mr. Thompson was contacting Fallon. Thompson’s work computer, _which we didn’t bug but really, really should have just in case. How did we not get old he was going to the office?_ , proved the key. When Kenny went searching, he found an email from Fallon in it, saying that he had hidden a burner phone in a chicken bucket dumped at a junk yard across the river in Jersey.

An hour later two FBI cars were speeding down an old service road full of concrete barriers that make the actual path a winding one that reminded Kateri much too much of the offensive driving course back at Quantico. Offensive driving was a skill that Kateri was reasonably good at but hated with a passion because she always had the lingering fear that she was going to spin out into something and kill either herself or someone else.

_Which makes me very glad Clinton’s driving and not me!_

_All I have to do is hang on for dear life!_

“Comin up on it on the right: right there past the barrier,” Kenny’s voice came over comms from the lead car.

A few seconds later Barnes pulled the lead car to a stop with a plume of dust and a slight squeal of barkes, Clinton stopping their car beside it, and everyone piled out.

“Charming,” Hana drawled sarcastically, as she climbed from the backseat of the second car and got her first look at the scene.

_What she said._

The junk yard was more of a garbage dump in Kateri’s opinion. There was fencing nearby and other buildings, but the end of this street didn’t seem to be connected to the surrounding buildings. There was no one visible, but the agents, and the noise of city life and of passing cars was muted. Even the construction equipment in a nearby lot was still and silent.

What had prompted Hana’s comment were the piles of stuff … scattered everywhere. Everything from what looked like normal … _smelly, bloody h**l_ … trash to old electronics … _including a bloody big TV!_ … to spoiled food … _oh, the smell_ … to boxes and everything in between. _Probably don’t want to know what all of this is or where it came from!_

“Fallon’s email said he put a burner phone for Thompson in a chicken bucket,” Kenny recapped as the agents headed into the garbage-dump portion of the street.

 _Lovely. We get to look through all this trash for a chicken bucket. Oh, joy_.

The sound and motion of Barnes drawing her gun at that point drew Kateri’s attention suddenly. Kateri glanced around, checking for a threat but saw nothing, her hand going toward her own automatically.

_What’s that for?_

“What’s that for?” Clinton asked.

“Rats,” Barnes responded sharply, voice tight.

_Ugh!_

The team scattered across the dump, checking for clues of any sort, anything that could help them find Thompson. Kateri resisted the urge to pinch her nose to block out the horrific smell of the dump, as she gingerly used the tip of one boot to move junk, keeping an eye out for rats as she did so.

“We’ve got fresh tire tracks over here,” Jess hollered.

_Good enough to get a cast if we need one?_

“Chicken bucket over here,” Hana echoed, “Full of grease, but no burner phone. Thompson must have picked it up.”

 _Bloody h**l. We’re too slow_.

“Check the nearest cell tower,” ordered Jess, looking over at Kenny, “Maybe he used the phone right away.”

The team slowly started to reform in one area, and Kenny bent over his tablet, stylus tapping quickly as he checked for the intel Jess wanted. It took him only seconds.

“Got it. Pre-paid burner used thirty minutes ago. Headed south on Route 206.”

_Only thirty minutes behind. Could be worse._

_But … case like this … every minute counts_.

The team dashed back to their cars, and the hunt was on. Kenny worked his magic, and by the time the cars were turning back into main roads and starting the chase, he had another update and a location on Thompson’s car. Comms were set to Vox, and everyone could hear everything that was being said in the two cars.

“He’s got fifteen miles on us,” noted Kenny.

 _But we’ve got lights and sirens if we’ve got to haul it_.

“Call him up for me,” replied Jess.

There was the sound of keys being tapped, and then a dial tone as Kenny patched the phone into the team’s comm system so everyone could hear the call.

A few seconds passed.

And finally, the call connected.

“Fallon?” Mr. Thompson’s voice was nervous, almost a little hesitant. _Not a good attitude to have … or at least show that you have … when you’re trying to face down a psycho on your own_.

“Mr. Thompson, it’s Agent LaCroix,” Jess had on his best calm, negotiator voice that could usually convince most people to do what he wanted, “I’d like you to pull over so we can talk to you.” _Before you get yourself killed_.

“No,” Thompson replied definitively, “This ends now, whatever it takes.”

_Are you really prepared for that?_

_Because I don’t think you really know what you’re walking into or what ending it might take._

_Are you ready to take a life?_

As usual, Jess was the voice of reason, “This man has already killed two people. You’re walking into a trap.”

“My life’s a trap,” Thompson snapped back, “I won’t live like this.” _I can sympathize with that, but for goodness sake, think about what you’re doing. Think about your wife, your kid!_

“I’d like you to think of your wife and child,” Jess cautioned, “You’re no good to them dead or in prison.” _That’s for bloody sure. Listen to him!_

“I’m no good to them now,” Thompson countered, “If I don’t have the guts to protect them, what use am I?” _Where do I even start on the problems there?_ The call disconnected. _Bloody h**l_.

Kateri reached up one hand to block her comm and looked over at her partner, who was driving again. “I’ve got a bad feeling how this is going to end,” she said softly.

Clinton made a face of possible agreement, glancing over at her for a second before returning his attention to the road and the other car in front of them. “Maybe. We can’t always save everyone, especially when they’re rushing headlong into danger.”

_Yet another problem that could probably be solved by not doing stupid._

_Rushing headlong into danger without backup is usually the height of stupidity._

“He’s only ten miles ahead of us now,” called Kenny over comms. _We’re catching up._ “He just turned down Route 518.”

“Punch it,” came Jess’ order, and both cars sped up.

The chase came to an end in a small parking lot bordered by a large expanse of woods in Harlingen, New Jersey. _We’re too late_. Kateri’s heart sank to her knees, as soon as she caught sight of Thompson’s car as the two FBI cars pulled to a stop a few yards away. His car was pulled off the asphalt into the grass that separated the parking lot from the woods. The driver’s side door was open, and there were no signs of life. _Bloody h**l_.

The agents exited their cars and, drawing their guns, approached Thompson’s car cautiously. Just because there were no visible signs of life did not mean that no one was there. It could be an ambush.

Caution was the name of the game with a fugitive like Fallon.

“Burner phone’s on the floor,” Clinton leaned into the car, as Kateri covered him, and emerged with the phone Thompson had been using to speak with Jess not long before. _Bloody h**l!_

Clinton handed the phone off to Kenny and then moved around to the trunk to clear it with Kateri.

“There’s fresh blood up here,” Hana called from the front of the car, as she pointed to something on the hood. _Double bloody h**l. If only he’d waited … not rushed headlong into disaster. D**n it all_.

There was nothing in the trunk.

“Drag marks along the ground. Tire tracks,” added Barnes, “Fallon took him.”

_Now we have to find them both … before there’s not much left of Thompson to find._

_It’s like the case with me two years ago all over again._

_Bloody h**l_.

_Bloody, bloody h**l._

* * *

There was nothing more to be done in the field for the moment, so the team returned to the bus. Further study of the intel they had gained that day, including the search history off Fallon’s computer, was in order. Those searches were the only leads the team had to where Fallon and Thompson might be. _The sooner we find them the better._

Everyone knew what Fallon had planned for Thompson, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Just thinking about the green van and its horrors still made Kateri’s stomach lurch. Even as the thoughts passed through her mind, she crossed herself quickly and pressed a kiss to the crucifix that hung around her neck.

As soon as everyone got back to the bus, Clinton and Kateri started going through all the houses that Fallon had looked at on the Airbnb website and started plotting the coordinates on a map Kateri brought up on her computer.

The results were scattered all over the map.

Too scattered as a whole to be of any use.

“The Airbnb houses Fallon was looking at are all over Central New Jersey,” Clinton noted, updating Jess who had come over and was looking over his and Kateri’s shoulders.

“Start within ten miles of where he snatched Thompson, towns like Hopewell, Mt. Rose,” Jess pointed to the appropriate dots on the map, “And check with Airbnb transactions.”

 _That’ll help narrow the search. Bloody lot of houses otherwise_. The two set to that, but before they could make much progress, Hana called Jess over.

“Take a look at this house!”

Kateri shot a look over her shoulder quickly and caught a quick glimpse of a house on Hana’s screen but couldn’t make out many details with Hana’s shoulder and then Jess’ bulk in the way. She turned back to her work. _We’ve got work to do until someone gets a more definitive lead._

“The well in the front yard is the same as the house with the neighborhood bully,” Hana noted, referencing Fallon’s old neighborhood with the infamous Tom Wright, “A two story house with shutters.”

_Bloody h**l, I hate Airbnb’s system._

_Come on, you stupid computer!_

“Just like the scene of Fallon’s first humiliation,” said Jess softly, as if he was almost thinking out loud, “She’s right! This is where he’d take Thompson.”

It was break in the case, right when the team needed it most.

Everyone gathered their coats and hurried out.

* * *

The house Hana had found where the team believed Thompson was being held was in Hopewell, New Jersey, ten-ish miles away from the scene of the kidnapping and only fifteen minutes from where the bus was parked. The street was a quiet one and the house a nice-looking one, not at all suited to the horrors that were probably taking place inside. A SWAT team from the Philadelphia Field Office, closer to Hopewell than the New York Office, had just arrived, and the men were unloading as the team pulled up.

_I wonder what we’re going to find._

_Focus. You’ll deal with that if it becomes an issue_. There were fully stocked med-kits in the cars, and Kateri had carefully packed her pockets back at the bus.

 _I only hope I don’t need all this_. How likely that would be … _with a nutso like Fallon_ … Kateri wasn’t sure.

She crossed herself and murmured a quick prayer both for Thompson and herself and her teammates.

Clinton and Kateri were the second and third into the house behind a SWAT officer in the lead, Barnes, Jess, and more SWAT following on their heels. (Hana, Kenny, and several officers had already split off to clear the property and the out-buildings behind the house.) The house was eerily quiet save for the calls of the agents as Kateri hurried up the stairs behind her partner, hands tight around her gun, eyes scanning for any sign of Thompson or Fallon.

Bedrooms.

Office.

Bathrooms.

Living room.

Dining room.

Kitchen.

Every room was clear.

There was no sign of Fallon or Thompson and no sign that they even had been there.

_Bloody h**l, where are they?_

Everyone filed back outside where the rest of the SWAT team was waiting, Kenny talking to the commander. Hana was waiting on the lawn, hands in her pockets, beanie pulled down low over her ears. Neither she nor Kenny had found anything either.

“No sign Fallon’s been here,” Clinton stated, heading down the walk back towards the driveway.

“It seemed perfect,” Hana’s voice was slightly puzzled.

Jess was standing in the driveway, starring out across the street at the houses on the other side. “It is perfect, but he didn’t wanna be in it,” Jess responded. _Okkkaaayyyyy_. “He wanted to see it, just like when he was a kid from across the street. You see that house with the for-sale sign? Basement window on the right. That’s where he is.”

 _Bloody h**l! So close._ Kateri crossed herself quickly, hoping that the delay wouldn’t prove fatal for Mr. Thompson.

Jess quickly relayed the new intel and new orders to the SWAT team, and everyone formed up and moved across the street towards the new target location. The door was breached with a crack of wood, as the door frame splintered in places, and the agents poured in.

_SWAT’ll take care of this floor and upstairs._

_Make sure there’s no unexpected surprises._

_Where’s the door downstairs?_

The lights were off, and with the shades and curtains, the light inside the house was filtered and dim. Kateri kept her head on a swivel as she followed in her partner’s wake. This house also was eerily quiet save for the noises the agents were making. _What were you expecting … screaming? … Yes, actually_. Finally, the right door that led to the basement … _not to a closet … or a cubbyhole … or a bathroom_ … was located, and then Kateri heard other movements.

 _Here we go_.

A pool table took up much of the floor space just off the stairs on the basement level, and Fallon himself was dragging a gagged and bloody Mr. Thompson off the table as agents simultaneously came down the stairs and breached through the outside door. _Bloody h**l!_ Mr. Thompson didn’t look good— _some blood on clothing, eye swollen almost shot, cuts and bruises_ —but given that he was actually able to stay on his feet, there were no gushing wounds, and no visibly missing appendages … _given the contents of that dungeon on wheels …_ Kateri deemed that a semi-success.

“Stop right there! Stop right there!” Fallon shouted, pressing his gun to Mr. Thompson’s skull, “Back off!”

Clinton stopped just off the stairway, and Kateri formed up on his right, the remaining SWAT agents behind them taking up shooting positions on the stairs, using the railing as a prop.

_Okay, both are about the same height. Head shots’ll be a problem._

_Basement’s not totally below ground level._

_Solid wall behind him, hopefully enough backstop._

_Don’t know if anyone’s in the next house._

“What’s the plan, David?” Asked Jess, voice calm in stark contrast to Fallon’s.

_First names … try to make a personal connection._

_Form a link. Get the subject to focus and listen to you_.

Fallon’s breathing was heavy, almost gasping. “I’m going out the door to that garage. I’m taking him with me, and I’m driving away.”

 _Yea, like that’s going to happen_.

Kateri kept her gun centered on what she could see of Fallon’s head. There wouldn’t be very little margin of error … _slightly more than I first thought_ … but only the top half of Fallon’s head was visible from basically his nose up. Below that, Thompson’s head was in the way. _Close range would help. Gotta be spot on to fire_.

“What then?” Jess prompted.

Fallon’s whole demeanor was almost manic, almost panicked. “I don’t owe you an answer,” he snapped, “so just get out of the way!"

_Calm down. We’ve need him to calm down._

“We know why you chose this house. We know the whole story,” Jess had his best negotiator voice on.

“We even met your neighbor,” echoed Barnes. (She and Hana had recounted the whole story of meeting Wright with all his smart-aleck, rude, misogynist.)

That got Fallon’s attention, and his head came around.

“He’s a real sorry excuse for a human being,” Hana tacked on in Barnes’ wake, voice calm and dry. _Understatement of the century._

“Right?!” Fallon exclaimed, “So you know! You saw!” _That still doesn’t validate what you did or what you’re doing_.

_This is like a giant version of kick the dog syndrome … just with a whole lot worse consequences._

Jess’ gun slowly came down— _what the h**l are you doing, boss?_ —and pulled the comm from his ear— _why, boss, must you do this?_ “I read your journal, David, your diary. I can sympathize with what you’ve been through.”

Kateri resisted the urge to take a step left closer to Jess. His tendency to expose himself at times was going to give her grey hairs before her time. _Don’t move. Fallon’s calming slightly. We’ve got his attention. Don’t mess that up._

“Yea, well this one, he’s one of those,” Fallon replied, “so just let me do what I got to do.”

_Act as judge, jury, and executioner?_

_Not a chance in h**l!_

There was silence in the basement for a few seconds save for Thompson’s panted breaths. Finally, movement in the corner of her eye drew Kateri’s attention left. Jess had not only lowered his Glock but now was handing it over to her. _Scratch the grey hairs. It’s going to be white hairs!!!! Just holster the d**n thing_. Kateri switched her own Glock to her right hand and took Jess’ gun with her left hand and tucked it into her own holster.

“I can’t let you leave with him,” Jess took a slow step forward, Clinton shadowing him on the right, Kateri moving around to shadow him on the left, “But I think you’ve made your point.”

_Not too close, boss!_

_Not too close!_

“You righted the wrong,” the boss continued calmly, “You know what I mean? What happened to your father?”

On Kateri’s left, Hana and Barnes moved up, cutting off any route of escape towards the back door. SWAT was covering the door to the garage. Kateri let her eyes flick around the room again, cataloging everyone’s positions and double-checking lines-of-fire. It was something she was almost obsessive about after shooting … _grazing …_ her fat… _partner_ … two years earlier. That mistake still haunted her at times.

Fallon’s eyes moved restlessly around the room, across the faces of the agents opposite him. He swallowed hard. “My dad was a coward. He should’ve fought back, but he just took it,” he snapped, a note of old grief buried deep within his words.

 _Events like that scar a person_.

“I don’t think your father was a coward,” Jess slowly shook his head, “He had a disease. He had depression.”

That got Fallon riled. “What are you … What are you talking about?? He … I saw him with my own eyes. He let that guy bitch slap him.”

There was silence again for several seconds.

“David, I want to show you something,” Jess finally said, taking a step backwards and towards Hana, who handed a phone across. “Just give me a second.” His voice overlapped with Fallon’s puzzled query. “I want to show you your father’s autopsy report.”

Fallon, however, did not seem to want to see it, his face half-hidden behind Thompson’s head, almost buried in his victim’s hair, and from his restless behavior he seemed almost on the edge of a breakdown.

 _Of what sort is debatable_.

“You need to see it. You owe it to yourself,” Jess continued, edging forward and placing the phone down on the pool table. _Not too close, boss!_ “Okay, just take a look at it.”

The back and forth between Fallon, who didn’t want to look, and Jess, who was carefully trying to prod him into looking, went back and forth, on and on, for several long moments. When Fallon continued to insist on not looking at it, Jess took the bull by the horns.

“It says your father took his own life.”

Kateri carefully watched Fallon as Jess let that bombshell fall, wary of what the clearly unstable Fallon’s reaction might be. _Least his finger’s not on the trigger._

For a moment Fallon was shocked into utter, complete silence. “What?” It was like he couldn’t believe his ears. The following, “No,” was stronger and more heart-felt. “No.”

“Not because of your neighbor or because of your mother or because of you,” Jess continued, “but because he was in pain.”

_And sometimes just ending it seems like the best route._

_It takes a lot of courage to keep on fighting_.

“Your father was a very sick man,” Jess’ voice was calm, almost sympathetic, “but he wasn’t a coward. He provided for you, for your mother. He did the best he could.”

Jess’ words seemed to be making an impact. Fallon’s head had come up again, and he was tracking better what Jess was saying and what the others were doing. Even more importantly, the gun had moved slightly, just slightly, away from Thompson’s head. _Only an inch, but we’ll take it_. Thompson was crying softly.

“You don’t need to be angry with him anymore.”

A few more seconds passed.

It felt like an eternity.

Finally, Fallon pulled back from Thompson and collapsed to a seat on the ground, leaving Thompson to lean on the pool table and try to keep himself upright without the support of his torturer. Fallon was panting and sobbing … but still had hold of his gun.

Leaving Clinton, Kenny, and Jess to deal with Fallon, Kateri edged around and pulled one of Mr. Thompson’s arms around her shoulders and helped Mr. Thompson away. _Bloody h**l, he’s heavy for a bean pole. Think I’m basically holding him up_. A bigger, beefier SWAT officer met them half-way to the stairs, and Kateri shifted Mr. Thompson’s weight across to him.

“Get him upstairs to the medic.” _As long as there’s an uninjured medic available, I’ll gladly leave the patching up job to them and the docs at the hospitals_.

Those few seconds that had passed were enough for the situation with Fallon to be resolved, and he had been pulled to his feet and cuffed by the time Kateri turned back toward the scene. Several SWAT officers led the captured fugitive away outside, leaving the team alone in the basement.

Kenny shook himself like a dog and gave a heavy sigh as he returned to the group, “Good one, boss.”

_Yea, just couldn’t you scare us a little less while you’re at it?_

“It was touch and go there for a while,” Clinton noted.

Backslaps were exchanged, and then Kateri and Clinton with Barnes and Kenny on their heels headed outside. The late afternoon cool breeze hit them smack in the face as they stepped back outside, and Kateri, at least, though she usually disliked the cold, was glad for it after the close air of the basement with so many bodies crammed inside.

Kateri sidestepped closer to her partner as they walked down the driveway, and Clinton shortened his stride to better fall into step with her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“You okay, kid?” Her pa … father … _hunt’s over_ … asked.

Kateri let her head fall down against his shoulder. It made walking a little awkward, but they’d done it before. “Mmmhmmm. Just tired … and glad that’s done. After seeing that dungeon on wheels, I was expecting something … a little worse … lot more blood and screaming.”

Clinton rubbed a hand up and down her arm, “We got to him in time.” _The other might have followed_.

An ambulance had arrived at the property since the team had breached the house, and paramedics were helping Mr. Thompson onto a gurney.

_Makes me think of what you guys might have been expecting when you were looking for me._

That thought made Kateri shudder, and the arm around her shoulders tightened, and she could almost feel her father giving her a concerned look.

“Sure you’re okay, kid?”

“Yea, just need to let my thoughts stop wandering.”

A few minutes later Jess emerged from the house. Leaving Clinton by their car, Kateri headed across the grass to approach Hana who was slowly following Jess out of the house, steps slow, eyes distant as if she were lost in thought. Kateri fell into step beside her, hands buried deep in her pockets.

“You know, Hana,” Kateri begin slowly, “The other day you said that Wellman, the creep that he is, made you feel weak.”

Hana’s gaze focused, and her head came around, “Mmmhhmmm?”

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you afterward. Wanted to say it privately, but I don’t think you’re weak, no way in h**l. I can’t imagine what you’ve had to go through, dealing with that these past years, but you kept at it, you were wiling to put the good and safety of the Thompsons ahead of your own feelings to meet with Wellman. That’s the opposite of weak.”

Hana shrugged. “I didn’t feel brave. I carry a gun, but I’ve been afraid for years.”

“And yet you kept on and you went,” Kateri countered.

“It helped that KC was there.” _Yea, I get that_. “I’m going to see him tomorrow. Time I put a stop to this once and for all.”

Kateri blinked, “Want backup?”

Hana shook her head, “No, not this time. This is something I need to do myself, but …” she hesitated for a moment, “Would you and Kenny like to meet up afterward, maybe? I think I might like some company at that point.”

“Sure. That’s fine by me.” Kateri gently bumped her shoulder into Hana’s, “Whatever you need, whenever you want. Just call or text when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.”


End file.
